


change the way we fall

by againstmygreeleaf



Category: My Candy Love
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tokyo Ghoul, Ambiguity, Angst, Blood and Violence, Cannibalism, Crossover, Drama & Romance, F/F, Femslash February, Gore, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Minor Character Death, Non-Explicit Sex, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 16:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13551513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/againstmygreeleaf/pseuds/againstmygreeleaf
Summary: Violette's head is in a haze, thoughts scattered far from now. She's too far lost in monochrome memories to notice the bus she's mere seconds away from stepping in front of. Luckily, the stranger on the sidewalk is not nearly as oblivious and quickly snatches Violette's wrist, yanking her backward.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think ghouls eating humans counts as cannibalism because obviously they're different species, but this fic still features humanoids feasting on humanoids, so I thought the tag was appropriate. I definitely don't want to trigger anyone by missing any kind of warnings. 
> 
> Also, I know ghouls having colorful kagune was an anime/game only thing, but I thought the colorful designs were pretty. So anime/game kagune logic applies to this. On that note, this fic may subvert universe canon introduced in TG:re, because I dropped TG:re around chapter sixty or so. 
> 
> The title is taken from Glassy Sky, as I've never been good at coming up with my own.

Violette's head is in a haze, thoughts scattered far from now. There's a screen between her and the present. It's an insubstantial, irrelevant thing, nowhere near as solid as the weight of her father's hands on her shoulders and his bad news wept into her ears. It's been a month since she took off her black, black mourning dress but the itch of wool against her skin still impels her to scratch and she can't quite believe she's dressed in a normal pair of jeans and t-shirt, even if that's what the mirror reflected.

She's too far lost in monochrome memories to notice the bus she's mere seconds away from stepping in front of. Luckily, the stranger on the sidewalk is not nearly as oblivious and quickly snatches Violette's wrist, yanking her backward.

"Watch where you're going girl, you were one step away from being a pancake!"

The bus zooms right past and whips Violette's hair with its speed, the hot stink of exhaust blasting her in the face. Her savior's hand releases her wrist. Violette timidly glances back to see bright, vivid green eyes in a smooth brown face fixed upon her with incredulity.

"Thank you," she breathes.

"Whew." The girl cracks a small smile. "That sure gave me an adrenaline rush."

"Sorry," Violette says awkwardly. "I was a little, um, distracted."

"I guess so," she exclaims, clapping Violette on the back.

Violette should thank her once more and then move on with her day. But she finds herself motionless. The girl has her drawn like a fly to the zapper. There's something radiant about her, spreading out like an aura.

The girl must think she's weird, just dumbly staring at her, but she doesn't seem in any hurry to go. In fact, she's staring too and upon realizing this, Violette blushes and nervously knits her fingers.

"Um...Since you saved my life can I treat you to lunch, Miss...?"

"Kim! It's Kim.” For a moment it looks like Kim is going to decline, but to Violette's surprise she says, "Sure, that sounds great. And you are?”

"Violette. There's a coffee shop just down the street." Violette tips her head in its direction.

Kim brightens. "Coffee sounds perfect."

"Good." Violette leads the way and tries to be both friendly and unimpressionable as possible. "I live nearby so sometimes I stop here. It's a nice place."

"I haven't gotten a chance to see much of the city. I just moved here."

"Oh." Small bells tinkle on the coffee shop's door as Violette opens it and politely holds it that way for Kim.

Kim smiles a bit at that and steps inside. "Yeah, I used to live in Tije but I moved here for work."

"I have a friend who lives there." Violette's lips twitch as she thinks of Candy. She's a friend as sweet as could be, albeit a little strange (must have inherited her quirks from her aunt). She misses her actually, but neither of them have had the opportunity to visit each other as of late.

With that in mind, Violette's thoughts begin to retreat to the dark places, but a waitress interrupts and leads them to a table. She orders a small croissant sandwich and a black coffee, and is immediately surprised when a coffee is all Kim asks for.

"You can get lunch," Violette insists. "Whatever you like. I meant it when I said I wanted to treat you."

"Thanks, but I'm set. I'm not too hungry and my break's almost over anyway."

Kim ventures to the restroom and Violette tries to soothe her nerves in the brief absence. She returns to her seat a couple minutes later, and waitress delivers their orders shortly after she takes her seat. She flashes a smile and briskly moves onto another table, leaving them alone once more.

Violette shifts a bit in her seat and shyly meets Kim's gaze. "So what is it that you do?"

"I'm a ghoul investigator."

Violette does her best not to spit out the bite of sandwich that tastes like soiled cat litter on her tongue as the sheer gravity of what Kim just said clenches her heart in a fist. Fear climbs her spine rung by rung, the words echoing through her head like the sonorous dongs of funeral bells.

"A g-ghoul investigator?" she squeaks.

"Yep. Is something wrong?" Kim raises a brow.

Violette gulps down the foul bite and grips her coffee cup to keep her hands from trembling, palms prickling with sweat. "That just sounds so s-scary! Ghouls are capable of some really nasty things. Your j-job must be so dangerous!"

"I won't lie, it's pretty daunting." Kim leans back and sips her coffee. "But the pay is good and someone has to protect beautiful girls like you, huh?"

She winks at Violette, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

"Beautiful," Violette repeats, dumbfounded.

For a moment she's wary that this is a ruse, a trap. But no...Kim's eyes are kind, somehow. She doesn't know. She must not be that good of an investigator if she can't spot a ghoul right in front of her face, but kind eyes wouldn't flit over her so gently if they planned on stealing her life.

"Was that too forward?" Kim scratches her cheek.

"No," breathes Violette. She clears her voice and says it louder. "Ah, no. I'm flattered, thank you...It's just not...I'm...I'm not..."

"Not into chicks?" Kim guesses incorrectly, seemingly trying to ease her struggle.

Violette shakes her head. "Not in a good position to be seeing anyone at the moment...I lost my mother recently...I'm also changing jobs and I might move. My life is a mess right now."

A mess is an understatement. In shambles is more like it, and god knows where her head is, inviting a human to lunch in the first place. A human of the most dangerous variety at that, the same type that slaughtered her mother in the first place for no crime other than existing. It's only by some supremely good luck, the universe throwing her a bone, maybe, that Kim has't killed her or noticed anything amiss.

"I'm sorry." Sympathy subdues Kim's expression, her mouth falling.

"It's alright." Violette takes another bite of her revolting, loathsome sandwich and tries not to seem too eager when she chases it down with the bitter relief of her coffee. "You saved my life today. You're also very sweet. I wish things were different, really."

Kim exhales a sigh and gives her a warm, wistful look. "I get it. I should probably get back to headquarters. Thanks for lunch, Violette. I wish you luck."

She gets up and pushes her chair in, offering a small, reassuring smile before she walks away.

Violette waves to her back and dashes to the restroom as soon as the door closes behind her, barfing up her meal and praying the mellow, indie music floating through the speakers is enough to drown out the sound.

* * *

Violette opens up the refrigerator and bites her lip as she looks over the measly contents. There are only two plastic containers left, one full of fingers and the other a stew of liver preserved in fats. Between her and her father, it's only going to last a week.

She shuts the fridge and turns around, pressing her back to it and sliding down to the floor. She's going to have to hunt. Her father isn't going to, it takes all her coaxing just to get him up and into the shower.

Damn it.

She's not a killer. She might have been born with a nature that tried to designate her as such, but she isn't violent. She isn't cruel or unfair. The parts in the fridge are leftovers of those lost to unfortunate circumstances, not victims of her kagune.

Her mother had been a janitor at the hospital. She'd harvested pieces of nameless unclaimed bodies from the morgue. Forgotten people were the safest food the world had to offer and all three of them could survive with their hands blood-free.

But she's gone now and her absence is more devastating than starvation could ever be, but that doesn't mean starvation is a threat on the horizon that Violette can afford to ignore.

She's never killed before but it was always more likely to come to this one way or another, although Violette wishes from the very pits of her soul that it would've been any other way than this, any other circumstance.

The familiar tide of sorrow sweeps her up and she is submerged, shoulders shaking as the tears escape. She brings her knees to her chest with a wet exhale. She cries until her eyes are puffy and dry and throbbing. When she is done, she pulls herself to her feet, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her heart is still heavy as she pads down the hall but the rest of her is lighter, somehow.

Resigned, she knocks on her father's bedroom door.

"Yes?" His voice is a hesitant whisper.

"I'm going out..." Violette tells him through the door, wondering if she should tell him why. No. He'll worry and he might panic. "I just wanted to let you know."

"Okay."

She fans her fingers against the wood and lingers for a moment. She wishes he would say more. She wishes she could translate the crushing weight inside her into words. After a moment, she draws away to her own bedroom.

Violette's mask sits on her dresser, dusty with lack of use. It's cute honestly, a subtly stylized sheep mask crafted with care. The face slopes slightly, cleanly, the eyes mirrored like sunglasses. Tenderly painted swirls of latex mimic wool and ears touched pink on the inside protrude from the head. She puts it on and adjusts the two straps until they're tight enough.

It's a perfect fit. This saddens her but it only serves as a reminder that _yes,_ it was going to come to this eventually. There was no escaping what she was.

Violette has to kill if she and her father are to survive. There is no getting around this. She doesn’t want to do it at all, but since she has to, she’s at least going to narrow it down to the most vile humans possible.

There are ways to screen the populace, news broadcasts and such. Her method of choice is an app on her phone that shows her where all the child predators in the area are. She hasn’t used it yet but she downloaded it in advance upon her mother’s passing.

At least if she hunts these kind of humans, it’ll almost be like cleaning the city of rubbish. She couldn’t find forgiveness in her heart for someone who would harm a child. She doesn’t think most humans could, either.

She turns her phone on and taps the app for the first time, scrolling through when it opens. Just a few blocks away there’s a candidate, a plump predator that would keep her and her father satiated for a good month or so.

It wouldn’t be the safest choice, hunting this close to her house. After all, she’d just run into a ghoul investigator earlier in the day. Not to mention, these aren’t her hunting grounds. Violette isn’t sure whose they are but to be on the safe side she has to assume they’re stronger than she is. Violette has a relatively durable kagune and she’s pretty quick, but most ghouls spend their lives fighting. Most ghouls have experience that Violette can’t compare with simply because of sheer dumb luck.

Those days are over. She’ll take her chances. If she runs into the ghoul who owns this territory, she’ll fight just like normal ghouls are supposed to do.

* * *

Violette doesn’t even have to go as far as the man’s dwelling. She spots him along the way, at a playground, and any lingering reservations she had about killing are immediately extinguished.

He’s sitting on a swing next to a girl who can’t be any older than thirteen, hand on her knee. The streetlight illuminates his toothy grin and it’s disgust that sends Violette rushing over more than her hunger. Two sets of eyes flash up to her, one guilty and the other tearful.

Violette kicks the bastard in the chest and he sails backward, landing sprawled. With the girl out of range, she allows her kagune to bloom. It tingles as it emerges from her shoulder, a wide, blunt ukaku. It’s deep purple and misleadingly dull shaped at first glance.

Her dinner squawks out a frightened noise and rolls, trying to struggle to his feet and stumbling in the dew slick grass. He’s too winded, too slow to beat the crystallization of her kagune. Violette fires a flurry of sharp, petal like projectiles.

They’re small but they barrage him by the dozens and slice deep. Blood spouts into the air as one after the other pierces into her prey. He makes some weak whimpering noises as he flails and rolls, the heels of his shoes drumming into the ground. He kicks up clumps of dirt and claws at his bleeding throat. Violette sends out a second wave of projectiles, thrumming with adrenaline as they burst from her kagune.

His whimpers turn to gurgles. He falls limp even before her assault is over, the last of Violette’s sharp petals embedding themselves in dead meat.

It was easier than she thought it would be.

“No fair.”

Violette jerks, startled. She wheels around to see the young girl still standing there, pouting under the blue-white glow of the stoplight. Violette stiffens, her jaw dropping as her kagune recedes. She hadn’t paid a second thought to the girl! She just assumed she fled!

“That was mine,” the girl says, giggling softly.

The girl’s slivery eyes change as her kakugan activates, sclera dyed black as tar and irises matching the same crimson of Violette’s. Her kagune lifts the layers of her ruffled skirt as it sprouts, an eel like pink bikaku.

“You’re a g-ghoul?” Violette stammers.

“Duh.” The girl rolls her eyes. “I’ve lived in this city my whole life. You must be new, I've never seen you at the meetings.”

“Meetings?” Violette echoes. She’s never involved herself in other ghouls’ affairs. Her family never had the need to immerse themselves in any of it.

The girl raises a brow. “Uh, yeah? Was your last district free-range or something?”

“I…” Violette slumps wearily and casts a glance to the corpse on the ground. She doesn’t feel like explaining. She’s hungry and tired and she just killed her first human, and she can barely care simply because she is so damn bone tired. Now she probably won’t even be able to keep him for herself. Not when this ghoul had claimed him first, this ghoul who evidently abides by the rules the others in her community have set up.

The girl tips her head, cheeks puffing out. “You thought I was a human, huh?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about intruding.” Violette bows her head apologetically.

She snorts. “Actually, I’m glad you did. Even though I had to play nice to trap him, it was super uncomfortable. I got chills when he touched my leg.”

Violette balks, swallowing heavily. This is how it is for most ghouls, ghoul children. It’s so stark and foreign against the kind of childhood she was lucky enough to have.

“We can share him,” the girl proposes as she tips her head, curiously blinking up at Violette. “You can take your mask off too. There’s no one else around.”

Violette lifts the sheep mask from her face and tugs it off, giving the younger ghoul an uncertain look. Could she really be okay with sharing?

“So that’s what you look like,” chirps the little ghoul. “My mask is a bird skull but I thought it’d be a tip off if I wore it tonight. Not like anybody else was going to be here to see my face other than this nasty old creep. So I thought anyway, but you showed up. I’m Nina, by the way.”

“Violette,” she offers with an uncertain smile. Her stomach decides to growl and Violette feels embarrassment flush her cheeks.

Nina giggles and hops over the swing without a care, slicing one of the arms from the body with a flippant flick of her kagune. She catches it mid-air and tosses it to Violette.

“Eat up.”

“Thank you.” Violette tears into the arm ravenously, almost mindlessly. She’s starving and right here in her hands the savory, rich smell of raw meat is blissfully overpowering. She sinks her teeth in until they scrape bone and rips away chunk after chunk, gobbling them desperately. The meat feels like heaven sliding down her throat.

Blood paints her mouth and chin like macabre clown makeup and her belly warms as it becomes full for the first time in weeks. She cracks the bone open with a forceful clench of the teeth and suckles the marrow out, not daring to waste any part of this hearty meal.

“Violette?” Nina prompts softly. “You don’t have to inhale it like that. You can have more than just the arm. You’re the one who actually made the kill.”

Violette bobs her head and saws the gristle from the scraps left in her grasp even so. She has to make everything last as long as possible.

“I have to bring some back to my dad,” she tells Nina. “A leg, at least.”

“Okay,” Nina agrees. She pinches off a nugget of cheek meat and pops it into her mouth.

“Do you have parents?” Violette asks carefully, brows knitting. Ghouls lead precarious lives, dying young and leaving orphans. But to her relief, Nina nods her head.

“I’ve got my mom,” she says. “Sometimes Mom needs a break from hunting, so here I am.” Nina wiggles her kagune and shears their meal through the middle with a casual sweep. His innards pooch over the lip of the wound and irresistibly draw Violette closer.

She crouches down beside Nina and pulls out a juicy strand of intestine. It’s warm as bathwater in her grasp, slick and shiny in the moonlight. She chows down with no restraint, the aroma too strong to resist. She devours hunk after hunk, the ripe tang a treat nearly too sweet for her tongue.

“You know that little clothes boutique on Sucre street?” Nina asks.

Violette nods, her mouth still fill of succulent intestine.

“You should stop by sometime,” Nina goes on. “The owner’s a ghoul. We have meetings in the basement.”

Violette gulps down the food and clears her throat. “What kind of meetings?”

“Mm, you know. The usual.” Nina plucks the eyeballs out and pops them into her mouth one after the next, the stalks hanging between her lips like stringy rat tails until she slurps them in. “Hunting grounds distribution, who’s seen what Dove where, who wants to spar with who, swapping tips for blending in with the humans. All that good stuff.”

“I see,” Violette says, nervous butterflies taking flight in her stomach. She can’t help feeling like she’d be out of place at such meetings. Would she be accepted by other ghouls?

Nina has been blessedly generous and friendly, but she’s only a child.

Then again, Violette supposes it’s necessary to attend at least one to get the lay of the land. If she doesn’t know what areas are off limits, she could very well wander into another ghoul’s grounds and piss them off. She’s fortunate that her encounter with Nina hadn’t taken an ugly turn. That it was Nina’s territory she’d wandered into and not that of a more experienced, more aggressive ghoul altogether.

“I should bring some of this back to my mom,” Nina says suddenly, a thoughtful look falling over her bloody face. “I guess I’ll take her the other arm and the rest of the jaw and…the man-boobs.” She pats their meal’s flabby pectorals. “You can have the rest, okay, Violette?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. Mom doesn’t eat much and Lysander shared some of his kill with me last night.” Nina shrugs a backpack off her shoulders and brings it around. It’s blue patterned with big-eyed, cutesy bunny faces that appear to be made of felt, or fleece, or something of the like.

Violette digs through the still-warm slice in her kill’s belly and takes a handful of moist pulp, chewing it carefully as she watches Nina. With a wet crack and a brief grinding sound, the little ghoul easily rends the jaw free. She tucks it in the bag and uses her kagune to cut through the pectorals more delicately, making sure she culls as much meat and fat as possible. She does an impressive job, a soft scraping rising in the air as her kagune rubs down to the rib cage.

“I’ll just have to carry the arm, but that’s alright,” Nina says. “Even if humans were wandering around right now, I’d be too fast for them to get a good look.”

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Violette asks irresistibly.

Nina laughs in response, pigtails bouncing against her shoulders. “And leave this guy unguarded? Nah. Eat your fill and take the rest to your dad, I’ll be fine.”

Nina’s kagune melts away and she zips up her backpack, pulling it on once more. She stands and makes her way to the man’s opposite side, grasping his hand. She stomps down on his shoulder as she gives his arm a forceful yank, joint popping loudly as it’s wrested from the socket with sinews wetly sundered.

Violette waves to her as she flees like a hare into the dark. She proceeds to gorge herself until she’s stuffed, tearing through the corpse like a chainsaw. She wants to hunt as infrequently as possible so she won’t allow herself to waste anything. By the time she’s through all that remains is a broken skull and a couple knobs from a spine picked clean.

And, of course, the leg for her father. Ideally Violette would’ve saved him more, but she hadn’t come as prepared as Nina to take a meal to-go. More ideally than that, her father would actually come hunting with her and they could make kills together.

Violette doesn’t expect that to happen though. At least not any time soon. So she puts her mask back on and lugs the leg over her shoulder.

She sprints home almost fast enough to escape the first waves of guilt.

* * *

Violette neatly packages her father’s share in tupperware and stores it among the other leftovers. She informs him that she’s home but refrains from disclosing where she’d gone, and he does not ask.

She cleans her mask off and showers, water turning pink as it swirls down the drain. The steam warms up her lungs. She contemplates the way her life will change from here on out until the water runs cold.

In the morning, her father doesn’t once mention the presence of extra food. If he notices at all, Violette can’t even be sure. His mind hasn’t been right since her mother’s passing.

It’s concerning but truthfully, Violette isn’t sure she wants to talk about it anyway.

* * *

Sketching soothes the soul.

A few days after her first kill, Violette finds herself at the park. She spreads a blanket at the slope of a small hill and balances her sketchpad in her lap. Insects flutter about the dandelions. A kite high in the air bobs with the breeze, delighting the small group of children beneath. A pair of older ladies sit on the bench and toss feed for the pigeons.

Violette fades unnoticed into the hum of tranquil background noise, pencil in her hand. She flexes her fingers and nurses her muse, graphite scratching softly against the page. Her feelings flow into the movement of her pencil, scrawls gradually refining into shapes.

“Oh, hey, it’s you!”

Violette freezes, pencil falling from her hand. It rolls off her pad as she lets out a quiet gasp, turning to see the familiar ghoul investigator standing right behind her.

“Sorry!” Kim exclaims, reaching for the pencil. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Violette just gapes. It was scary enough meeting Kim the first time. This time she’s a newly minted hunter and the woman stands before her in uniform, eggshell white coat down to her knees and silver suitcase in hand.

“Violette? You okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” Violette forces out. “You just really surprised me, that’s all. It’s good to see you again, Kim.”

“Backatcha.” Kim winks and plops down on the grass, casually tucking the pencil behind Violette’s ear.

Violette feels the heat creep into her face and shyly curls a strand of hair around her finger. “So, uh, what brings you here? No ghouls, I hope?”

Kim’s expression darkens. “That’s exactly why I’m here, actually.”

Violette gulps. This is it. This is the end. Kim’s backup is going to spring out of the bushes any minute now and she’s going to die like her mother, and her father will be left all alone.

“Didn’t you see it on the news?” Kim continues. “There was a murder just a couple blocks from here at the high school.”

Wait.

“H-High school?” Violette repeats.

“So you haven’t seen it.” Kim hisses a breath between her teeth, shaking her head. “The remains of three students were found on the courtyard. Mangled like nothing else. Kagune secretions were found at the scene, so we know for sure it was a ghoul.”

“That’s terrible.” Violette sinks her teeth into her lip. She isn’t paying lip service— it is terrible. Ghouls have to eat humans, that’s just reality. But why target teenagers? Why waste the nourishment you need by leaving a mess of remains behind?

And even in her disgust, secondhand guilt prickles in her chest. She too, is a ghoul. Even in her disgust she knows she is selfishly relieved that Kim isn’t here for her head, and that itself is even more disgusting.

“We’re running background checks on the staff and asking people in the area if they’ve seen anything suspicious.”

“I haven’t,” Violette says. “Sorry.”

“Let me know if you do,” Kim says, pulling a small rectangle out of her pocket. “Here’s my card.”

Their fingertips brush as Violette takes it, and she can’t deny the tingles that go through her. She quickly ducks her head.

“Right. If I see anything suspicious I’ll give you a call.”

“I appreciate it.” Kim tips her head, eyes sparkling with curiosity as she takes a peek at the sketchbook in Violette’s lap.

Violette self-consciously hugs it to her chest. “Don’t! Please, it— it’s not finished!”

“Oops.” Kim sheepishly averts her eyes. “I won’t look if you don’t want me to, but what I could see was pretty cool.”

“You’re just saying that.” Violette shakes her head. Her art is weird. Even Candy, her only real friend, thinks so.

Kim wrinkles her nose. “Believe me, girl. I never say something if I don’t mean it.”

Violette studies her for a moment. Slowly, wordlessly, she leans back and reveals her sketch.

Kim peers intently at the drawing on the page. It’s a creature of some form or another, with a body like an elongated, shaved rodent. Baby doll limbs protrude from its back like spines. A sunflower sprouts from its behind and its alligator mouth is open wide to showcase rows of teeth.

It looks like the kind of thing you’d find on the album cover of an amateur alternative band. That’s how Candy had described Violette’s art style, anyway. It was as kind a description as her friend could manage, but it wasn’t any sort of compliment.

“You don’t think it’s ugly?” Violette rambles nervously. “Or creepy? Or like, the opposite of creepy with an overdone wannabe creepiness factor that renders it laughable?”

“No,” says Kim. “I think it’s unusual and interesting. It sorta reminds me of a kaiju.”

“A kaiju?”

“You know, like Godzilla, or Mothra, or the Cloverfield thing.” Kim raises her hands and gestures. “A big ol’ scary monster thing that wreaks havoc on cities.”

“Oh…Is that good?” Violette hesitates.

“It’s great,” Kim chuckles. “I love kaiju flicks.”

Violette beams. “Then um, thank you.”

“No prob,” Kim suddenly stretches her arms above her ahead and flops back. “I guess I should get back to work.”

“Don’t let me keep you.” An anxious laugh flutters past Violette’s lips. For a moment she’d been so warmed by the praise she’d almost forgotten that Kim was a Dove.

“You could though. Easily.” Kim winks at her.

Violette blanks, her cheeks positively incinerating. She splutters some butchered syllables, failing to string any actual sentences together.

Kim chuckles as she pushes herself up, putting a finger to Violette’s lips and cutting her off mid-babble.

“Sorry,” she says. “Didn’t mean to fluster you. I was just teasing, I mean, I remember what you said last time.”

Violette remembers what she said last time too, but the pad of Kim’s finger is irresistibly warm and soft against her lips. Despite herself, despite everything, she likes it there.

Kim draws her hand away and rises to a stand, brushing her coat off. “I really do have to get back to work. Keep working on your kaiju.”

“You bet.” Violette flashes her a thumbs up.

Kim waves as she jogs down the hill, sun glinting balefully on the silver suitcase in her grasp.

For what must be the millionth time, Violette wishes she were human.

* * *

Violette dings the little bell on the counter at the clothing boutique. A few moments later, a young man with black hair emerges from the back. He gives Violette a cursory look over and smiles politely.

“Can I help you?”

“I think so,” Violette says. She can catch the faintest metallic scent wafting off of him. The linen scented plug-in air fresheners she spied in the outlets would mask it if she weren’t actively attuned to it. “Nina said this is where the um, meetings are?”

“That’s correct.” The man bobs his head. “Are you new?”

“You could say that,” Violette says uncertainly, shuffling in place.

“Our next meeting is two days from now, after close,” he explains. “Normally we only hold them once a month, but Deborah’s actions have once again prompted a change in schedule.”

“Deborah?”

The man— his name tag reads Leigh —sighs warily and runs a hand through his hair. “You’ll meet her.”

“Okay…”

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No. Thank you.”

Violette gives him a small smile and browses for a bit before she leaves the shop. It’s been nearly two weeks since her first hunt. She is still satiated. She stuffed herself to make the nourishment last as long as possible. Her father seems to be faring okay as well, but there’s nothing but a foot left in the fridge.

Soon enough, she will have to hunt again. This time though, she’ll have the guidelines of the upcoming meeting to go off of. She’ll be able to map out territory she knows isn’t taken. The only lingering worry is what kind of humans will be in this theoretical vicinity.

She doesn’t want to kill at all, she doesn’t think she’d be able to harm any human undeserving. Maybe she can bring that up at the meeting. Maybe there are other ghouls who feel the same as she does, ones she can collaborate with. Her hope is as feeble as newborn lamb, but it’s all she’s got.

Violette pauses on the sidewalk, her thoughts skidding to a standstill as she spots a familiar face up ahead.

There’s Kim, turning around the corner with a blonde man on her heels. They’re both in uniform, sterile white coats and eerie silver suitcases. He must be her partner. Violette gulps but before she can backtrack, Kim sees her too.

A wide grin breaks her face and she comes trotting up the pavement. Violette raises her hand in a timid wave.

“The way we keep running into each other like this has got to be destiny,” Kim declares, laughing happily as she drapes an arm over Violette’s shoulders.

Violette wrings her hands as she blushes, clearing her throat. “Maybe so. How have you been, Kim?”

“Not great,” she sighs, drooping like a sunflower in the dark. “Running into dead ends all over the place, aren’t we, Nathaniel?”

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be stopping to flirt,” the blonde guy says, rolling his eyes as he approaches.

Kim snorts. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just sulky because it’s been a slow day. Quit being rude, Nat. At least say hi.”

“Hi,” Nathaniel sighs out, golden eyes giving Violette a cursory sweep. “It’s nice to finally put a face to your name.”

“Huh?” Violette’s jaw falls open.

“I might’ve mentioned you,” Kim cracks a sheepish grin. “Between walking into traffic and drawing badass kaiju art, you leave a pretty strong impression.”

Violette hangs her head. A strong impression and a good impression are not the same thing.

“Better impression than most of your friends make,” Nathaniel deadpans.

Violette feels Kim’s arm withdraw and looks up in time to see her playfully slug him in the shoulder.

“When did you get so rude, huh? What happened to the polite and proper student council president I went to school with?”

“He became an investigator. An investigator who would like to get back to investigating. Not that it wasn’t nice to meet you, Violette,” he says apologetically, offering her a slight smile. “I just want to catch that ghoul before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Of course.” Violette swallows and nervously tugs at the collar of her sweater.

“Yeah, we got to go,” Kim admits with a reluctant sigh. “But before we do, I wanted to tell you there’s a new exhibit at the art museum. I thought you might be interested.”

“Really? What is it?”

“A kinetic sculpture. I was gonna go see it on my day off, you wanna come with?”

It would be far too dangerous to go. Possibly even suicidal if she were to betray any sign she wasn’t human.

“Just as friends,” Kim adds, noting her hesitation.

“Sure,” Violette finds herself saying despite all reason and rationality she possesses.

Kim beams and passes Violette her phone to input her number. Violette is stupid. Inconceivably, mind-bogglingly stupid. She taps her number in and passes the phone back to Kim with a plastic smile while on the inside she’s demanding of herself; _why, why, you idiot, why?_

She waves goodbye to Kim and Nathaniel as they walk away and finds the answer in their absence, between the buzzing of insects and the bits she catches of conversation from passersby.

Violette is inconceivably stupid. Violette is also insufferably lonely.

And maybe, maybe, Violette thinks, it isn’t accidental that Kim keeps finding her at all. Only now does Violette acknowledge that she recognizes Kim’s scent; this crisp citrusy aroma like a freshly cut lime.

Although never her intention, she might be subconsciously following it. Intentional or not though, it is a distinct possibility.

Violette’s stupidity isn’t as baffling when she muses over her own loneliness. Bottomless, aching loneliness a wound inside of her like an arctic void. Her mother is gone, the best parts of her father were lost along with her, and seeing Candy hasn’t been possible since the CCG began cracking down in her district.

Violette’s loneliness will kill her if her stupidity doesn’t do it first.

* * *

It’s just her luck that Kim’s day off falls on the same day as the meeting she’s supposed to attend in the boutique’s basement. Figures. It’s a little unnerving but Violette supposes it might not be as big as an obstacle as she initially feared. After all, the meeting takes place after hours. Violette’s sure she and Kim will leave the museum long before it’s time.

She styles her hair into a short, simple braid and pins her bangs back with floral clips. She slips into a pale gray dress and dark plum tights and spends some time in front of the mirror, assessing her appearance.

She doesn’t want to overdo it. There’s no need to look fancy. She wants to look nice, though. Kim is a _(Dove, you idiot)_ nice girl, after all…

And Violette’s never been on a date before. Well, this isn’t exactly a date. Kim said herself she was only inviting her as a friend. But that didn’t change the fact that Kim had interest in her, which meant it was almost a date.

If Violette were human, they’d be able to have more than just one almost-date.

Alas, Violette isn’t human, so one night of letting loose and having fun with a possibility she could’ve pursued in another life will have to suffice.

* * *

“You look great!” Kim beams, her bright eyes traveling up and down Violette’s physique.

“You too,” Violette praises, openly checking Kim out.

She’s wearing neat black slacks and a mid-sleeved shirt with horizontal orange and blue stripes. With the exception of her bangs, her hair is pulled back into a little bun. She looks much better donning colors than the bleached sterility of her uniform.

“That’s a relief. It’s been awhile since I’ve cleaned up nice like this.” Kim chuckles and sheepishly scratches at her cheek. “So anyway, do you want to stop and get anything to drink or eat before we go? We can’t bring it inside so we’d have to finish it on the walk or make a stop, but I’m okay with waiting if you are.”

“Oh, um, actually I had d-dinner with my dad. But we can totally stop if you’re hungry!” Violette flaps her hands.

“Nah, I’m alright. Just wasn’t sure about you.”

There’s a short, awkward pause where they’re both just staring at each other without knowing what to say. Kim clears her throat first.

“So I guess we should start walking.”

Violette nods. They'd decided to meet outside the pet store a block away from the museum, figuring it would be less crowded and easier to find each other.

“We’re always talking about my job,” Kim says as they start their stroll. “What do you do?”

“I’m a graphic designer,” Violette replies. “I work from home.”

“Yeah?” Kim cracks a grin. “That’s cool. Do you make t-shirts and stuff?”

“I wish.” Violette chuckles. “I make advertisements and templates for websites.”

“Gotcha. What did you do before?”

“Huh?”

“When we first met you said you were changing jobs?”

“Oh, right!”

At the time she’d been referring to switching to the role of provider in the home. Obviously she can’t tell Kim that, so she has to think fast! Violette isn’t the best liar, but luckily Kim just handed her something to work with.

“I tried to do the t-shirt thing,” Violette confesses falsely, hanging her head. “Selling stuff with my own logos and funky designs online. Sometimes it went well and sometimes it was a bust. I had to switch to something more predictable after my mom passed.”

“I see.” Kim frowns, shadows of sorrow dimming her gaze.

The familiar taste of grief floods over Violette’s tongue, so thick in her throat she feels like she might choke.

“How did she pass?”

“She was murdered,” Violette seethes.

One night she didn’t come home. On the news the next day, a reporter applauded the CCG for the successful extermination of a local ghoul. There weren’t any photos, but there didn’t have to be to know it’d been her mother. The reported location was the parking lot of the hospital she’d worked at.

“No!” Kim’s hands fly to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

Violette nods grimly.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, Violette. That’s so awful, I can’t even imagine…” Kim shakes her head. “Did they catch the killer?”

“No.” Violette chews her lip. “I don’t think they ever will.”

Kim is rendered speechless. She puts an arm around Violette’s shoulders and pulls her close. Violette swallows and allows herself to take comfort in the touch.

“Do you want to go home?” Kim asks softly. “I probably shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay,” Violette sighs, sagging wearily. “But we should talk about something else before my mascara runs.”

Kim balks, blinking rapidly.

“Sorry.” Violette’s lips twitch in a nervous smile. “Sometimes sarcasm helps me cope.”

“No, girl, don’t be sorry.” Kim’s arm slowly slides off her shoulders. “Gallows humor has been around since the dawn of time. If it helps you cope, it helps you cope.”

“I’m glad you see it that way. A lot of people think it’s weird.”

“Nobody has the right to judge the way you handle your grief. When I lost someone close to me, I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

“You lost someone?” Violette echoes sadly.

Kim nods. “Lynn. Back in high school, she was my best friend and Nat's girlfriend.  After it happened, he isolated himself from pretty much everybody and everything. Went total hermit. Me? I just raged hardcore. I was pissed off all the time and blew up on people the second they gave me the tiniest reason to be annoyed.”

“My dad’s like Nathaniel,” Violette says with a despondent shake of her head. “Ever since we lost my mom, it’s like he just gave up. He barely even leaves his room, let alone the house. He neglects self-care. I try but I just can’t get through to him.”

Violette tosses her hands up.

“Sounds like he needs therapy,” Kim says sympathetically.

“For sure,” Violette agrees. “It’s just not an option though.”

“Insurance?” Kim guesses.

“Something like that.” Violette sighs out.

“Look at us, dishing out all this dark stuff on the first date.”

Violette gives a bitter laugh. “All that’s left is religion and politics, and we’ll cover all the worst first date topics.”

“I guess we’re off the hook since it’s not a real date.” Kim stuffs her hands into her pockets.

“It would be, if things were different,” Violette tells her shyly. “I like you, Kim. It’s just…complicated.”

“Hey, there’s no pressure here,” Kim promises, smiling gently. “It’s okay, we’re just hanging out.”

The art museum awaits ahead of them, vintage and magnificent. Wide steps lead to the entrance. Banners pinned to the overhang announce the arrival of the new exhibit.

Violette lets herself get caught up in the excitement and the sweet promise of a stress-free outing for the first time since she can remember.

“Come on!” She takes Kim’s hand and eagerly tugs her up the steps, easily sidestepping slower people.

Kim makes a giddy noise and keeps up no problem. They purchase their tickets and get a map, going over the layout of the museum. They join a group with a guide who stops at every piece, explaining the history and speculating on artists’ intent.

“I’ve heard of a lot of these,” Violette whispers to Kim when they’ve stopped at an abstract wonder entitled, _Birds are Singing._ It features no obvious birds, though there may be some camouflaged in the shapes. “It’s cool to see them in person.”

“I pegged you for an art history buff,” Kim teases in low tones.

Violette playfully bats her shoulder, minding her strength.

Between _Birds are Singing_ and _Watch the Gills_ (an intricate collage of garbage into fishes, intended to be a commentary on pollution), Kim’s fingers brush hers. It’s brief and Violette suspects not quite accidental, but not quite on purpose either. Kim is quick to tuck her hand back into her pocket. Maybe she has to keep it there to stop herself from reaching out again, because she just wants to hold Violette’s hand that bad. And that’s a thought that makes Violette feel good, damn good, even if it’s better for the both of them that this isn’t a date.

“I sculpt,” Kim whispers as their group approaches the first sculpture of the night, a high-relief piece featuring ancient goddesses. “Not masterpieces like this, but as a hobby. I have a kiln.”

“Show me sometime,” Violette murmurs, “I’d love to see.”

“Only if you show me your kaiju.” Kim winks.

They continue through the tour, admiring the artwork and stealing snippets of conversation along the way. The new exhibit is the last stop, a breathtaking array of shifting bulbs and swirling spirals dangling from silvery threads. It’s an interactive mobile accompanied by soft classical music. Each person in the group gets to take turns pulling a crank to change its movement.

Violette takes her turn after Kim. As she begins to crank, she hears the snap of a camera. She looks up to see Kim’s phone out.

“Nooo,” she whines. “No pictures! I wasn’t ready!”

“Unplanned photography is the best photography,” Kim states sagely, snapping another one.

Violette scurries over and makes a swipe for the phone. Kim whisks out of range and holds it above her head.

“Delete it,” Violette insists, hopping up and down. She again restrains her strength, careful to reach only the height a normal human would. She is a tad scandalized Kim took her picture out of the blue, but she’s mostly overreacting just to tease her.

“Nope,” Kim teases right back, waggling the phone up in the air. “Not gonna happen!”

“I’m coming for that phone, Girl-zilla!” Violette declares, making Kim laugh.

She snags Kim’s elbow and pulls her arm down. Their playful scuffle over the phone is brief, cut short as the tour guide clears his throat.

“Ladies, please.”

“Oops.” Kim stops short.

Violette blushes and ducks her head.

“Guess we got a little carried away,” Kim says, the teasing trickling out of her tone. “Do you really want me to delete it?”

“Hmm. I guess as long as it’s just for you, it’s fine,” Violette decides. “No uploads or shares or anything.”

“Just for me,” Kim promises.

They loiter around for a little bit after the tour is done, browsing the gift shop and making faces at each other over the ridiculously priced items. They take the long way back to the front entrance, revisiting some of the artwork.

“Which one’s your favorite?” Kim asks.

“I don’t think I could pick one,” Violette hums, knitting her fingers. “Every piece has something to offer.”

“True,” Kim agrees. “So, okay, how about one that really stood out to you?”

There’s a pause as Violette considers.

“ _While You Count Clouds,_ ” she offers finally. “The one with the typewriter keys? I think I can relate to it. What about you?”

“Everything but the diamond encrusted toilet seat,” Kim scoffs. “Don’t tell me it’s supposed to be a commentary on how meaningless wealth is. That’s some flimsy bull of an excuse, a diamond toilet seat isn’t art. It’s just pretentious.”

“Absolutely! _Glitter Death_ is painfully overrated,” Violette asserts vehemently, cringing. “The so-called commentary is blatantly tacked on. It’s not an art piece, it’s a mistake! Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for exploring concepts through the realm of absurdism, but no toilet seat is deep. I don’t care what you do to it.”

Kim giggles and Violette balks, embarrassment creeping in.

“Sorry. I probably went overboard didn’t I?”

“No, no!” Kim insists, vigorously shaking her head. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you feel trivial or anything. You just caught me off guard. I’ve never seen you get fired up like that before.”

“…oh.” Violette presses her lips together, feelings she can’t afford fluttering in her stomach.

She keeps looking to Kim’s hand, tucked so far in its pocket. She fiddles with her fingers to keep her own hands occupied. Maybe if she were a bit more daring and even more stupid, she’d take Kim’s hand out of her pocket and hold it tight as they walk down the steps.

“I should get home,” she says when they’ve stepped off the last one, officially reaching the end of their not-date.

“You want me to walk you?” Kim asks.

“No, I’ll be okay. My house is close by.” This isn’t a lie even if home isn’t where she’s going.

Kim seems skeptical and a bit put out. “It’s pretty dark, Violette.”

“I know, but um,” Violette struggles to piece together a cover on the spot, “my dad doesn’t know I went out.”

“Okay?” Kim raises a brow.

“He doesn’t, uh…know I’m into girls,” Violette says awkwardly, grimacing as the lie digs into her like a bee sting. “I know this isn’t a date but if he sees you with me, he might start um, asking me things. I think he’d be okay with it but I’m just not ready to come out yet.”

Understanding washes over Kim’s face. “I know what you mean. Like, my parents are cool and I think they already suspected, but still. It was tough getting comfortable enough in my own skin to actually sit ‘em down and spell it out.”

Discarding better judgement, Violette brushes her lips over Kim’s cheek. She longingly inhales her scent and lingers a moment before finally stepping back.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” Violette says before Kim can comment on the gesture. “That way you won’t worry.”

“Yeah, okay. Sounds good.” Kim smiles softly. “We should do this again sometime.”

Violette is tiptoeing on tightrope without a safety net. It’s far too perilous to push the envelope further than she already has.

“We should,” she says anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, all the titles of art pieces are taken from A Softer World.


	2. Chapter 2

Violette texts Kim, telling her she’s home as she steps into the boutique. It’s dark on the ground floor but she follows the aroma of blood until she stands before what must be the door to the basement. Light glows through the threshold.

Violette opens the door and closes it quietly behind her before she trots down the carpeted stairs. She hears voices but she can’t quite catch what the other ghouls are talking about before they hush themselves at the sound of her approach. Violette shyly slinks around the last step, gulping as she finds all eyes on her.

“Um…sorry if I’m late,” she stammers.

“You’re fine, Violette,” Nina calls to her, offering a friendly wave. She’s sitting on a bean bag chair next to some silver-haired guy. He waves too.

Not everyone is as friendly. Some redheaded guy measures her with his eyes, finds her lacking, and smirks.

“W-What did I miss?” she asks uncertainly, inching back to the wall.

“We were just discussing how some of our rules have been violated,” Leigh says, briefly shooting a sharp look to a girl with butterflies tattooed on her shoulder. “Make yourself comfortable, Violette. Have some snacks.”

Violette looks longingly to the snack spread on the buffet table. A plate of ears stacked high calls her name. The scent of the fermented blood in the punch bowl tickles her nose. A platter of eyeballs impaled by toothpicks makes her mouth water.

“Is it really okay?” Violette hesitates.

“Of course,” Leigh replies. “We’re all friends here. Rather, we’re all friends as long as we cooperate and follow the agreed upon guidelines.”

The girl with butterfly tattoos rolls her eyes. “Always so stuffy, Leigh.”

“You compromised us,” he accuses darkly, “it isn’t the first time, Deborah, but it’d better be the last.”

Deborah throws her head back with a bark of a laugh. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“Take it as you will,” he states coldly, “I won’t stand by idly the next time you put us at risk.”

The redhead guy bristles. Deborah smirks and purposefully saunters up to Leigh with a sensual sway in her hips. The whole room seems transfixed, staring openly as Violette does. She boldly tips his chin up with her index finger.

“Sweet, darling Leigh. You couldn’t put a scratch on me if you tried.”

He slaps her hand away with an angry hiss.

“Maybe I won’t give you another chance,” he snarls. “I’ve had it with you thinking you’re better than—“

“Stop!”

An orange haired girl wedges herself between them, pushing them apart. “Don’t fight! That isn’t going to solve anything. Look, Deborah, Leigh has a point. The way you hunt attracts Doves and you have to realize that has consequences for all of us. Leigh, try not to be so confrontational, alright? You can’t reason with anyone like that.”

“You guys overreact,” the redhead grunts, making his way over. “Rules get broken now and then, big whoop. We haven’t exactly seen Doves patrolling every corner. So what if she indulges sometimes? Doesn’t everyone?”

“She leaves her scraps everywhere, Castiel,” the silver haired guy gasps in exasperation, getting up from his beanbag chair.

“And there is one new Dove team,” Nina points out.

“Yeah,” frets the orange haired girl. “They showed up about a month ago, right? Pretty young. The girl’s black and on the tall side. The guy’s white and he’s got broad shoulders.”

Shit. That’s Kim and Nathaniel.

“I wonder why they transferred here,” Leigh growls with a suspicious glare at Deborah.

“You can’t prove she’s responsible.” Castiel glares back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Do we know anything about them?” asks the silver-haired guy. “Their ranks? Their quinque?”

Violette freezes, straining to force a blank face.

“No, I’ve just seen them patrolling.” The orange haired girl deflates.

Nina gets up from her beanbag chair and gestures for Violette to follow her to the table. She slowly shuffles away from the wall and makes her way over, anxiety poking her with pins in every step. The others continue speculating about the new investigators and Nina takes an eyeball on a toothpick. She opens her mouth wide and holds it between her teeth for a moment.

It seems to penetrate Violette with its singular sunken stare, cloudy and dead. Then Nina shifts her jaw and it plops into her mouth. She chews it over and swallows, exhaling in contentment.

“Gotta eat eyes before they get mushy.”

Violette chuckles nervously and slides a glance back to the other ghouls.

“Chill out,” Nina says. “Everybody here is pretty cool except for Deborah. Iris— with the striped leggings? She’s really fun. She used to be my babysitter when I was little. You two are gonna get along fine.”

Violette takes a level breath and tries to focus on what Nina is saying, internally abashed for having to be comforted by a thirteen year old in the first place.

“Lysander?” Nina points to him with the handle of the ladle and then scoops herself a cup of blood. “He’s Leigh’s younger brother. Spacey but a really good guy. And a total hottie, right?”

Violette laughs softly, endeared by Nina’s puppy love and amused by the prospect. “He’s nice but not exactly my type.”

“Good, then I don’t have to fight you for him.” Nina winks but something in her tone tells Violette she’s at least somewhat serious.

“Castiel’s a jerk. Acts like he’s constipated all the time.” Nina rolls her eyes and takes a sip of blood. “Doesn’t cause trouble like Deborah though. The all-bark-no-bite type. I think—”

“I’m going home,” Deborah announces loudly, cutting Nina off.

She pulls away from the cluster, whipping her hair back over her shoulder so it purposely whacks Leigh in the face. He’s sent spluttering as she struts to the stairs.

“I’m out too.” Castiel follows, his wallet chain bouncing against his leg as he trots up the steps behind her.

A minute later the bell dings as the boutique’s front door is opened and exited.

Lysander pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I think they’re together,” Nina finishes. “Castiel was always an ass but he wasn’t this reckless until they starting hanging out.”

“How bad is she?” Violette asks.

“Bad enough to get us all killed,” Leigh gripes, raking a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh.

“I heard she cannibalized in her last district,” Nina says, raising her voice for everyone.

“That’s just a rumor,” Iris replies dubiously. “That’s extreme even for Deborah.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Lysander declares.

“Anyway,” Iris says brightly, pointedly changing the subject as she shuffles over to the table and sticks out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Violette!”

“Mhm, you too.” Violette smiles shyly and shakes her hand.

“Anything you wanna know just ask, okay?”

“For starters, I’d really like to know whose hunting grounds are whose.” Violette twirls a tendril of hair around her finger. “I don’t want to trespass.”

“Sure.” Iris glances back. “Lys, you got the map for her, right?”

“Yes, it’s right here.” He reaches into his shirt pocket and pauses. “Oh.”

“Did you lose it?” Leigh asks patiently.

“I seem to have misplaced it, yes.” Lysander frowns.

Leigh pats his shoulder. “I had a feeling you might. I’ve got an extra upstairs.”

He looks over his brother’s head to flash Violette a small smile. He then leaves to fetch the map.

“It’s good to have a guideline and we appreciate the consideration, but we do share here,” Iris tells her. She takes an ear from the platter and nibbles on the lobe. “Like you shared with Nina before. I’m okay with it if you take a human from my grounds from time to time.”

“Likewise,” Lysander says, “Leigh and I have a pretty specific diet of the people who steal from the shop.” He gestures to the table.

“This isn’t what I expected,” Violette blurts, self-consciously shifting her feet. “No of-offense! This is actually a lot better than I expected.”

“What were you expecting?” Nina tilts her head.

“Well…” Violette glances from face to face. “More pressure, I suppose. More arguing.”  
  
“Living as a ghoul is precarious,” Lysander murmurs. “We’d rather cooperate to survive than squabble over food.”

Violette’s stomach flips. It’s hard for her to think of humans as food. It’s an ugly truth but it’s one she’s never had to tackle head-on until her mother’s passing.

“Most of us would,” Leigh corrects as he lets go of the railing. “Deborah is a glutton who kills for pleasure even when she’s had her fill. We might have to do something about her.”

“I don’t like it either, but that’s too risky,” Iris protests. “Fighting Deborah doesn’t just mean fighting Deborah, it means fighting Deborah and Castiel.”

“I tried talking to him.” Lysander sighs heavily and rubs at his temples.

Leigh frowns, contemplative. He walks over to Violette and slides the map out of his pocket.

“Thank you.” Violette unrolls it on the table. She’ll have time to memorize it, but for now she just wants to have an idea of what she’s working with.

“It’s color-coded,” Iris explains. “The blue dots are places where it’s safe for us to hang out. The pink circle is Nina’s family’s hunting grounds, the orange one is mine, the green one is Leigh’s, the red one is Castiel’s, and the black one is Deborah’s. We haven’t added you yet.”

“I live around here.” Violette points to her street on the map.

“Okay,” Iris says, the other ghouls coming over to look.

“Your hunting grounds should be close to your home but not right next door,” Lysander tells her.

“I’m a bit new at hunting,” Violette admits, “but I figured it was something like that. I look for child predators on my phone, so I can customize the range I’m looking in.”

“That might not be a good idea,” Leigh says, not unkindly. “I can understand your desire to subsist on those who mean harm, but they’ll eventually be listed as missing or dead no matter what kind of people they are. And all the digital data to point to you will be in your phone history.”

“I didn’t consider that,” Violette gasps.

“I think it’s fine,” Iris says, a thoughtful look on her face. “I’m sure a lot of people have that app, especially parents. Investigators would have to decide to look into the app as a lead in the first place.”

“True.” Leigh inclines his head. “We’re not going to tell you how to hunt, Violette. These are just things to think about.”

Violette nods and awkwardly fidgets her fingers. She’s nascent in her own nature, and she can’t deny she could use the guidance.

* * *

“I’m home.” Violette stands outside her father’s bedroom, hand hovering over the doorknob. “Do you need anything?”

A muffled sound beyond the wood that separates them. A long sigh.

“What time is it, Violette?”

“It’s late. There’s some snacks in the fridge if you want.” She’d taken a plate of ears to-go.

No response.

“Dad?”

“I’m tired, Violette.”

“I know.”

Violette steps away from the door and quietly pads back to her room. She flops back on the bedspread without getting undressed and stares at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars stamped to her ceiling. She glances to her desk to meet the vacant stare of her sheep mask.

What’s the point in surviving if she doesn’t actually live?

What’s the point in existing if all she has are empty spaces and walls to talk to?

She takes out her phone and scrolls to Kim. Her teeth dig so deep into her bottom lip that she draws blood and still, she texts her anyway.

_When do you want to hang out again?_

It’s late. She doesn’t expect Kim to reply until the morning and by then, maybe she’ll have come to her senses.

_Kim is typing…_

_You free Friday?_

Violette’s heart skips in her chest.

_Friday sounds great :)_

Sometimes Violette feels normal. It’s the mundane things, mostly. When she tends to the flowerbeds in the backyard. When her designs for new advertisements get the seal of approval. When she’s folding laundry.

But she doesn’t have the green thumb her mother had and inevitably ends up overwatering the one with yellow petals and underfeeding the one with thorns. The ads she designs will end up printed on milk cartons she cannot drink from. The blood stains that hem her sleeves won’t be washed out by even the coldest water.

Kim makes her feel normal. Talking to her, texting her, running into her and miraculously being the thing that makes her smile the loveliest smile Violette has ever laid eyes on.

One day the other shoe will drop.

With any luck, that day will not be Friday.

* * *

Violette dons her sheep mask for the second time somewhere in between late Wednesday night and early Thursday morning.

She’s still satiated from her kill in the park, but her father’s been running on the nourishment of just the one leg.

She picks out another creep on the app, eyes dark and soulless like lumps of coal stuffed in the sockets. He lives a reasonable distance from home. This time Violette feels more prepared.

She dresses in her father’s black rain slicker and adjusts the strap of a plain black duffle bag to be longer. She pulls it over her shoulder and drinks cup after cup of dark coffee. The caffeine keeps her going until that nebulous time between night and morning wherein most of the world is asleep.

She scarcely exercises her own strength. She doesn’t like being reminded that it’s there, merely a natal feature that reminds her no matter how human she looks, that’s all it will ever be. An appearance. Camouflage.

On her hunt, Violette exerts, leaping from rooftop to rooftop like a superhero in a comic book. It’s a funny thought and the wind takes away her laugh as she sails through the sky. She nearly collides with a chimney and recklessly throws herself into the next spring upward anyway.

Her father’s slicker flaps around her and the air slaps her face, but the elastic strap keeps her mask snug in place. The taste of smog laces every exhale and adrenaline thrums through her bloodstream.

She’s winded, unused to this level of activity. And she carries on anyway because this is what her body is built for, and she must build it up in turn if she is to outlive ghouls like Deborah.

Violette jumps from the roof of her target’s next door neighbor, tucking in to land on her shoulder and tumbling into his backyard. The strap of the duffle bag tightens painfully as she rolls. At some point, she lets it go. Eventually stilling, Violette spends a few minutes catching her breath.

She looks up at the sky, simply breathing. No stars. Too much pollution. Too many bright city lights. She waits for signs that indicate she woke someone up. Watches for light to glow beyond the window. Listens for footfalls or voices.

Nothing.

Violette gets to her feet, retrieves her duffle bag, and quietly pads to the window. She tries this first, but it’s locked. With that, she slinks around the house and tries the front door. Also locked. She checks around for a spare, peeking under the weathered, frying welcome mat, and inside the withered, dead potted plant.

Zilch.

Violette tries both front windows to no avail. She balls her hand into a fist and stares down at it, contemplating.

What is the likelihood that he has a security system?

Violette’s designed logos and banners for alarm system companies before. When she goes on her walks, she’ll often see them printed on front yard picket signs. They do this to promote their services and to ward away potential burglars.

There’s no sign in the yard. No stickers on the door either.

Her father needs to eat.

Violette pulls her arm back and punches through the glass, shards sent flying. Some slice through the slicker, leaving cuts that take mere seconds to heal. Some get embedded into her skin, but those too will heal as soon as she pulls them out.

She fumbles for the latch and unlocks it with her thumb, walking in through the front door. Anxiety and uncertainty swirl in her belly like storm clouds but she can’t allow herself to hesitate.

Her father needs to eat!

Tiptoeing around broken glass, Violette creeps deeper into the house. The furniture is mismatched. A musty odor lingers in the air, tinged with the stink of beer. Pinstriped wallpaper peels off the walls.

A loud yawn breaks the silence in the atmosphere. Violette’s mind wipes blank as she freezes in place. An old mattress creaks, springs grinding together as her prey audibly rolls out of bed. She can hear his footsteps as he begins to make his way down the hall.

Quick as she can, Violette presses herself flat against the wall.

He emerges from the hall, scratching at his head. He looks just like he did on the profile in the app, thick neck, thinning hair.

“Could’ve swore I heard…” he trails off, noticing the glass on the floor. He reaches for the light-switch and Violette is faster, kagune bursting free as she surges forward.

Their eyes meet.

Then her kagune launches projectiles, sporadically striking. One drills right between his eyes, ruining their staring contest. He jerks and jiggles, pulled to and fro by the continuous barrage of projectiles riddling his body.

The lightbulb in the lamp behind him explodes as it’s hit, brittle shards blasting the wall. Eventually he falls slack, blood pooled into the shaggy carpet. Violette leans over with her hands on her knees, panting. Beads of sweat roll down the skin concealed by her mask.

Without Nina here to distract her, the guilt doesn’t take as long to worm its way in. He doesn’t look nearly as menacing as a corpse as he did on the app. He’s scarcely recognizable as the creep on the app now, shredded down to the bone.

He looks like a meaty cactus someone stuck in a giant blender, her crystalized projectiles protruding from his mangled form like spines. The coppery tang of blood teases Violette’s tongue, her mouth watering.

She pulls her mask up and crouches beside her kill, grabbing a thick strip of meat that hangs off his forearm. She tears it free with a moist sound and takes a big bite out of it. Most of this is going to her father but Violette needs an energy boost.

Her guilt continues to niggle at her while she chows down, and grows all the sharper when she finds it tastes good anyway.

 _My father needs to eat,_ she reminds herself yet again.

 _Survival of the fittest,_ she tries to convince herself.

She wanders around the house while she gives her energy more time to recover. She finds his wallet on the table and pockets the cash. In all reality, he doesn’t need funds anymore and she does, no matter how distasteful the action might seem.

He has cereal on top of his fridge and milk inside it. In his bedroom, there’s a poster on the wall for that reality TV show where toddlers compete in beauty pageants. It depicts a girl who can’t be more than four in a tutu and tiara.

Faced with the poster, Violette’s guilt simply dissolves.

She returns to her kill and releases her kagune. She uses it like a cleaver, chopping him up into little pieces like a butcher cubing meat at the market. She packs the duffle until it’s so full she can barely close it, sodden and bloodied.

* * *

Kim meets Violette in the park, in green and black plaid over denim bootcut jeans. Violette stands up from the bench and shyly waves. Kim comes trotting over, lips lifting in an easy grin.

“Hey, Vi.”

“Hey, how are you?”

“Better now that I’m with you,” Kim trills playfully.

Violette giggles, hand covering her mouth. “Your charm never ceases to amaze me.”

“And your eyes never cease to amaze me,” Kim gushes saccharinely.

“Quit it,” Violette groans, lightly batting Kim’s shoulder. “That’s too much!”

“I get it, I get it,” Kim bubbles. “If I feed you any more cheese, you’re gonna be lactose intolerant.”

“Oh my god.” Violette shakes her head.

Kim outright cackles.

“Just when I think you can’t get worse,” Violette teases. “You think you’re such a badass, with your dangerous job and your gorgeous lady muscles. But underneath it all, you’re a big dork.”

“A dork who makes you smile,” Kim points out, tracing the upward curve of Violette’s mouth with a gentle fingertip. “And I take it from ‘gorgeous lady muscles’ that you’ve been smiling at the pics I sent you too.”

Violette ducks her head as the blush unfurls in her cheeks. They’d been texting throughout the week and Kim had sent her a few selfies from the gym. She was dazzling, dense with whipcord muscle from head to toe. Bountiful breasts visible even confined by a sports bra, her butt a well-defined, graceful grapefruit of a curve.

Violette clears her throat, trying to keep from fanning her face. “Yeah, they were nice.”

Violette returned them with selfies of her own, but nothing nearly as attractive. Just shoulder-up smiles.

Kim pauses, a serious look coming over her face. “They didn’t make you uncomfortable, did they?”

“Not at all.” Violette gives her a reassuring pat on the arm.

“Are you sure?” Kim looks apprehensive. “I guess I come on kind of strong sometimes, but I want to respect your boundaries.”

Violette softens and tentatively puts a hand on Kim’s cheek. Kim blinks rapidly, puffing out a gentle gasp.

“I will tell you if you cross a line,” Violette promises. “I hope you know you can tell me if I ever cross a line. You’re right, you come on strong. But you don’t make me feel uncomfortable, Kim. You make me feel adored. More than that, you make me feel normal and I don’t even remember the last time I felt normal.”

Kim slides her hand over Violette’s, holding it to her cheek. Her fingers slip between Violette’s and she swipes the tip of her tongue over her lips, pressing them together.

“I want to kiss you.”

Violette swallows, a torrent of conflicting emotions like a hailstorm in her head. Kim smells fresh and tart, and no matter how hard she tries to deny it, tasty. Kim smells like food. She smells like food and she kills people who eat like Violette for a living.

Violette rises on the balls of her feet and tenderly kisses her anyway, restraining the instinct to tear her teeth into Kim’s tongue. Kim kisses her back, smooth and slow.

When they break away, they spend a few heartbeats just staring at each other.

“So,” Kim says, “does this mean this is a date-date?”

“It’s not a not-date,” Violette says uncertainly, drawing her hand back to her side.

“Okay,” Kim bobs her head agreeably. “I can roll with that.”

“So what are we doing tonight on our, uh, maybe-date?”

“I was gonna ask you about that. I have an idea. True to what you think, it’s what most people would probably consider a dorky one, so if you want to do something else, it’s totally cool.”

“What is it?” Violette tips her head.

“Bowling,” Kim says sheepishly.

“Can I be honest with you?” she asks, distantly needled by the knowledge that being truly honest with Kim would be like lighting a cigarette at the gas station.

“Duh.” Kim gives her a playful nudge.

“I’ve never bowled before.”

“Well it was just a thought. I mean, we can totally do something you’re more familiar with, or just go get something to eat.”

“No, let’s bowl,” Violette says. “I think I want to try.”

* * *

At the bowling alley Violette chooses a tie-dye patterned ball that weighs a couple pounds less than the pepperoni pizza patterned one Kim picks. Kim has compact arms, prominent biceps. Violette’s own arms are as slender as willow branches and yet it would be child’s play to tug Kim’s right out of their sockets.

“Since it’s your first time, you want to use the bumpers?” Kim asks, teeming with contagious vim and joy.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

Violette changes into the provided nonslip shoes while Kim asks the guy at the desk about the bumpers. It isn’t very crowded tonight. There’s some parents with their kids and a team of girls in silky uniform shirts. Violette watches them for a couple minutes, trying to memorize their techniques.

They wear such intense expressions it’s simultaneously admirable and amusing. Violette glances back to their lane when the sounds of metal clanking beckons, the bumpers popping up to guard the gutters.

“Ready?” Kim asks, ball tucked under her arm.

“You first,” Violette insists.

She watches Kim slide her fingers into the holes and can’t keep her thoughts from straying into dirty directions. Kim hurries to the line and fluidly rolls the bowl. It speeds down the lane and knocks into the pins, knocking down seven out of ten pins without even brushing close to the bumper.

Violette takes her turn next, mimicking the movements of the team. Her ball loudly bangs against the bumper and ricochets. It knocks down half of them.

“Not bad,” Kim praises, briefly clapping.

Violette does a little curtsey and returns to her seat.

Kim is good. Violette watches the pivot of her body as she unleashes the ball, the swing of her arm and the slight shift of her shirt up her back.

They take their turns, the scores automatically saved by the screen. Kim is in the lead but neither of them are actually competing. They’re just here to have fun. When it isn’t her turn, Violette maps out the decor.

It’s a space-themed bowling alley, stars and galaxies painted on the walls. Plastic replicas of planets hang down from the ceiling, forming the solar system. Their table has shooting stars printed on them.

Everything is going great until Kim asks,

“You wanna get some nachos?”

“Um…”

“Or pizza, or mozzarella sticks, or something. I could go grab a menu?”

“Whatever you want,” Violette says lightly, “I’m up for anything.”

“Nachos then. The dip here is really good.”

Kim goes to get them and Violette takes her turn in her absence, managing a split. She absently watches the scoreboard add up her points and sympathetically pats her stomach in anticipation.

“Here we go,” Kim announces, returning with a food tray balanced on her arm.

Violette shuffles back to the table as she puts it down, taking her seat. Kim sits across from her and immediately dips a tortilla chip into this gooey green slime of a substance. Violette forces herself to do the same.

It’s revolting. The noxious odor floods her throat and nausea curdles her stomach. She chews the chip as much as she thinks would seem normal to Kim and swallows it down. Kim seems preoccupied eating her own share, so Violette puts less effort into the next few she forces herself to eat.

“Great dip, right?”

“Yeah,” Violette tells her brightly, having no clue what else she could say about something that tastes so repugnant it’s going to burn her tongue off.

“I love how warm the tortillas are too. They just seem fresher warm, y’know?”

“For sure.” She’d rather shave chips from fresh bone than put the next one in her mouth, but she does so anyway.

Kim doesn’t notice anything amiss. Violette’s stomach aches with the vile bolus heavy as lead inside. It’s all she can do to hold back the urge to vomit all over the table.

“My apartment is only a few blocks from here,” Kim discloses nonchalantly, scraping her chip around the edge of the dip bowl.

“Do you live alone?” Violette discreetly wraps one arm around her stomach.

“Nope. Nat rooms with me. His cat, too.”

“Is it hard working and living together?”

“Nah.” Kim takes another chip. “Don’t get me wrong, the guy can be a total stick in the mud sometimes, but overall he’s pretty cool. We’re good about giving each other space and the apartment? Pretty big. The CCG pays well.”

“Is it a cute cat?” Violette asks. The more she distracts Kim with chatter, the less likely Kim is to notice she’s stopped eating.

“Honestly, I’m more of a dog person.” Kim dunks another chip into the dip. “I don’t hate cats, they’re just not my speed. And Nat gave her the stupidest name ever: White.”

“I wonder what color she is,” Violette jokes.

Kim snickers, shaking her head. “He could’ve called her Snowball, or Snowflake, or maybe Blizzard, but nope. He picked White. But I guess in his defense, she is his first pet.”

“What about you, got any pets?”

“I’ve got a dog, but not at the apartment. Baby Bear lives with my parents.”

“That’s a cute name.” Violette smile, ignoring the helpless gurgling of her stomach. “What kind of dog?”

“He’s got Newfoundland and lab for sure, and probably something else, but we don’t know what.” Kim pauses, taking a look at the nacho basket. “You want the last one?”

The smart thing to do would be to decline. Probably.

Maybe not.

After all, the more Violette eats around Kim, the less reason there for Kim to ever suspect anything’s off about her.

The short-term consequences for Violette’s stomach will be dismal.

But it would benefit the long-term goal of maintaining her human charade, vital to life and happiness.

“Zoning out much, Vi?”

“Sorry! Uh, sure, Kim, thanks.” Violette grabs the chip and scrapes up what remains of the dip, popping it in her mouth before she thinks any harder about it.

Her tongue quivers as the filth infects her mouth. She digs her chewed nails into her palms and desperately hopes it will stay down.

When Kim takes her turn with the bowling ball, Violette skitters to the water fountain and hurriedly washes down gulp after gulp in an attempt to help her stomach settle.

It works, for a little while. But she’s shaky on her feet and this catches up to her on her very last turn, causing her to misstep. She wobbles and lurches forward, simply dropping the ball instead of sending it off. It lands in the lane with a booming thud and begins a slow descent.

Kim hurries over and takes Violette by the shoulders, holding fast.

“Are you okay!?”

“Yeah,” Violette chirps, aiming to sound casual. She fears it fell flat, like rubbery false cheer.

“You sure?” Kim splutters.

“I just, um…I think I crossed the line? My f-foot slipped.”

Her lies are piling up.

“Really?” Kim frowns uncertainly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see that. I would’ve warned you.”

“No, no, it’s my fault. I’m a little clumsy.” Violette winces guiltily.

It’s easier to pretend to be fine now that they’re done with the physical activity. Violette conceals the discomfort of her cramping stomach with smiles and her slip-up is forgotten like crumbs in the corner as they fall back into the flow of conversation.

There’s even another kiss before they go their separate ways, brief and plush.

Once she’s home, Violette throws up everything but the taste of it.

* * *

One day, Violette leaves her room to discover the door to her father’s is open. She wanders into the living room to find him there, eyes glued to the television screen.

“Good morning,” she greets hopefully.

“Tell me that’s not you,” he begs, pointing to the screen with the remote.

Violette turns to the news story he’s watching. Some ghoul killed a family of four in the parking lot of the mall. There were witnesses and some bystander recorded some of the slaughter on their phone. The footage is jerky and blurred as the bystander flees for their life, and the news station can’t air the more graphic moments anyway.

It’s a short clip that they show, about ten seconds. The ghoul is obscured as they smash two children’s skulls together with brute force, kagune inactive. There’s a sickening crunch and the helpless howl of the fleeing bystander, but the newscasters crop out the blood that follows.

“Of course that’s not me,” she gasps, whipping her head to fix her father with a flint stare. “You think I would do that?”

“The fridge isn’t filling itself,” he says warily.

“I take care of us,” Violette replies darkly, “but I would never do that. I’m not cruel, Dad.”

“You’re right,” he says, lips unfurling in an fragile, fatigued smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You’ve always been my gentle little lamb, Violette.”

The intrusive image of her sheep’s mask splattered with blood flashes through her mind.

“I’m still a killer,” she counters, heart aching with the longing to be anything but. “Maybe it would be better if I was cruel like that. It might make things easier.”

“No.” Her father shakes his head. “What it would make you is a target. We live quietly or we don’t live at all.”

 _What would you know?_ Violette bites back the urge to snap.

“I’m sorry this burden’s fallen on you, Violette,” he tells her earnestly, almost as if he realizes she’s holding back. “I always prayed you wouldn’t have to do this.”

She won’t ask him for help, no matter how lost she feels. He simply doesn’t have the stamina, not mentally.

“You’re a good daughter.”

Violette smiles tiredly and climbs over the back of the couch to settle next to him, patting him on the arm.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Sometimes she’s frustrated. Sometimes she’s heartbroken. No matter what she feels or how she copes, deep down she could never truly blame him for any of it.

* * *

Violette just so happens to run into Iris later that day, at the coffee shop she took Kim to. She swings by while she’s taking a walk and spots Iris sitting in a booth, across from an older woman who shares her carrot top.

It must be her mother, Violette realizes. She gives pause in the middle of the shop, simply staring. She pictures sitting across from her own mother, sipping coffee. She remembers the subtle curve of her lips in wishful half-smiles. She imagines her in her favorite sweater, a sunny yellow thing with a pocket on the left breast. She yearns for her scent, orchid perfume that only just covered the antiseptic hint of the morgue.

What would they be talking about? Maybe those charming, witty commercials that one insurance company keeps popping out. Or what flowers her mother’d like to add to the garden. Or—

“Hey, Violette!” Iris beckons her over.

Violette shakes herself out of her stupor and swallows past the lump in her throat, shuffling to their booth.

“No lie, me and my mom were just talking about you,” Iris chuckles. “Were your ears burning?”

“Guess so,” Violette smiles uncertainly.

“All good things, hon, don’t worry.” Iris’s mother winks at her. “I’m Isabelle, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Violette briefly shakes her hand.

Iris scoots down and pats a place next to her. Violette takes the invitation, planting her butt down.

“Too bad we couldn’t bring Thomas,” Iris says.

“I know,” Isabelle agrees quietly. “But he would draw too much attention.”

“Kid brother,” Iris explains to Violette.

“Ah.”

The waitress comes over and takes Violette’s order, a medium black coffee. For the most part they talk about public-appropriate things, like the weather, the pleasant smell of coffee beans, and everyone’s plans for the day. Iris tells her about this nifty novelty shop she’d like to take her too, where she always finds a different rubber ducky.

Iris collects rubber duckies, apparently. She rambles on happily about her specialty duckies, the pumpkin one she got for Halloween, the astronaut one she was lucky to swipe on clearance, this winter one patterned with snowflakes…

“She names all of them,” Isabelle adds with affectionate amusement.

“I guess it might seem silly,” Iris admits, “but when you put the effort in to find them like I do, it just wouldn’t seem right not to name them.”

“I collect buttons myself,” Isabelle hums, thoughtfully sipping at her coffee. “Do you collect anything, Violette?”

“I don’t but my dad collects ships in bottles.” Or at least, he used to. He used to work on them every day.

“Do you think he’ll show for our next club meeting?” Iris asks casually.

Violette quickly catches on to the implications of ‘club.’

“Um, no, probably not.” She looks down into her coffee, watching the ripple of her miniature reflection. “I’m the one who does most of the club activities.”

“I see,” Isabelle nods. “I don’t always go myself, but I think I’ll be at the next one.”

“It might be early again,” Iris mutters, exasperated. “Deborah didn’t take anything seriously at all. She’s already made another mess.”

“I’ve seen what that kind of over confidence leads to,” Isabelle sighs. “It isn’t anything good, but it isn’t something we can do anything about right now. Tell me, Violette, where did you get your purse?”

“It was a birthday gift,” Violette says, patting its side. Candy bought it for her last year.

“I like the designs,” Isabelle compliments and from there, the new topic of the table is fashion.

They chat about their personal styles and what kind of accessories they like. Violette has always had a thing for fingerless gloves, Iris’s favorite way to wear her hair is in a braid, Isabelle likes flow-y skirts to the ankle in the summertime.

Eventually they finish their coffee and bid their goodbyes. Iris and her mother leave shoulder to shoulder and the image sprinkles salt into her wounded heart. She always, always misses her mother, but watching them together violently slugs her with the force of what she’s lost.

Violette glances at the clock and then slips her phone out, teeth in her lip as her thumbs tap away.

_When’s your lunch?_

_Kim is typing…_

_Bout 15 minutes_

_I’ll pick you up something from the coffee shop._

_You’re sweet but it’s okay. think nat’s getting carryout_

Violette hesitates, thumbs hovering over the screen. Her grief writhes through her like a viper, sinking its fangs into her heart, pumping loss instead of venom.

_Please? I really need_

Violette backspaces. She doesn’t want to sound desperate or give Kim the impression there’s some kind of emergency.

_Please? I really want to see you._

_Kim is typing…_

_Get me an espresso macchiato and a cinnamon muffin and meet me outside headquarters?_

Headquarters. Shit. Violette can’t just walk up to the CCG headquarters. There’s gonna be Doves everywhere.

Logically, she should should tell Kim to never mind it. Tell her to just eat carryout with Nathaniel.

Her phone buzzes. She glances down.

_Vi?_

Violette takes a breath and texts.

_Sounds like a plan :)_

* * *

Violette waits outside the gargantuan CCG headquarters, pacing back and fourth with Kim’s lunch in her hands. It looks like an oversized office building but Violette has a feeling there’s a lot more than desk work going on in there.

“Can I help you?”

Violette stops short, glancing up to see a stern Dove with her hands on her hips.

Violette stutters, floundering under her stony stare and cowed by the silver suitcase in her grasp.

“We don’t tolerate loitering here,” she states sharply.

Violette’s tongue is a numb, useless thing in her mouth. She can’t force it to work, no matter how urgently she needs to spit an explanation.

“She’s with me, Delanay,” Kim’s voice rings out as she comes trotting across the walkway.

“Hm. You should’ve just said so.” She brushes past Violette and heads back toward the building.

Kim rolls her eyes. “Delanay’s a hard ass to everyone, don’t take it personally.”

“I got tongue-tied,” Violette admits, awkwardly holding out Kim’s lunch.

“That’s okay. And thanks for this.” Kim takes the bag and cup, indicating the bench with a bob of her head.

Violette follows and takes a seat next to her. She’s still anxious being here, but she feels safer with Kim next to her.

“I hope you didn’t have your heart set on carryout.”

“Nah, but I am a little surprised.” Kim takes a thoughtful sip of espresso. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, I just really miss my mom today.” Violette folds her hands in her lap and looks down at her shoes. “I mean, I miss her all the time but some days are harder than others. Today is one of the harder days.”

“Aw, Violette…I don’t know what to say,” Kim murmurs sadly.

“That’s okay, no one ever does. Even the people who think they do, don’t. There’s nothing anyone could say that would make it any better.”

“So there’s nothing I can say,” Kim repeats. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You can eat your muffin,” Violette suggests, looking to the bag.

Kim pauses.

“I’m serious,” Violette says. “Eat it while it’s fresh.”

Even if she herself, cannot eat muffins, she’s sure they taste better fresh than stale.

Kim takes the muffin out of the bag and unwraps the cellophane, sinking her teeth into it. Cinnamon-sugar and crumbs smatter her lips. She chews it over and washes it down with a sip of espresso.

“Good muffin. Thanks, Vi.”

Violette leans her head against Kim’s shoulder.

“Just being able to talk about it helps,” she murmurs. “I can’t talk to my dad. Not about her, not about how I feel…”

Kim puts her cup between her knees to free up her hand, sliding an arm around Violette’s waist. Kim doesn’t just hear, she listens. She always listens and Violette’s voice is so quiet she isn’t used to being heard, let alone listened to.

Kim munches on her muffin and slow sips away her espresso and Violette uses her presence as a salve to her wounded heart.

“I think she’d like you,” Violette breathes softly. “She spoke her mind like you do. My shyness comes from my dad.”

“Heh. Did you get anything from her?”

“My looks. My eyes are like hers and I’m short like she was. Some of my interests, like painting. I feel closer to her when I paint.”

“Does it help?”

“Usually it’s the thing that helps the most. But sometimes it reminds me it’s the only way I can be close to her now…”

Kim gives her a comforting squeeze around the waist.

“I always use her brushes when I paint. I miss her so much,” Violette laments, closing her eyes against the sting of tears. “Confident and kind, always knew how to make me and my dad laugh. She appreciated life down to the smallest worms in her garden and she always tried to capture it in her paintings.”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman,” consoles Kim.

Violette nods, too choked up to speak. Kim begins rubbing her back. She gives Violette a few minutes of silence to decompress before she proposes an idea.

“You wanna come over later tonight? Nat’s going on a mission with Agatha’s squad so I’ve got the place to myself.”

“Um, okay,” Violette agrees. “I’m kinda curious to see your apartment.”

“We can chill and watch a movie. Or maybe break out the drinking games,” Kim adds, trying to force a levity.

“I’m a lightweight,” Violette chuckles, in truth having no idea what kind of tolerance she may or may not have for something her body won’t metabolize.

“I never would’ve guessed.” Kim smirks.

Violette playfully slaps her knee.

“Really though,” Kim says on a serious note, “we can do whatever you’re comfortable with. Whatever you wanna do.”

“Whatever I wanna do,” Violette repeats, shifting her eyes to the swell of Kim’s breasts under her uniform coat.

“Perv,” Kim teases.

“I d-didn’t say anything!” Violette splutters hotly.

“You don’t have to, your face is red!” Kim laughs and licks the cinnamon and crumbs from her mouth in a purposely languid way.

“You’re the one whose hand is getting closer to my butt every second!”

Once Kim stopped rubbing her back, her hand had begun to creep lower and lower. Violette doesn’t mind in the least, but she doesn’t mind using it as ammunition either.

“Guilty as charged,” Kim relents. “But it’s not exactly bothering you.”

“We’re in public,” Violette points out, albeit it’s not like anyone can tell when they’re sitting on an opaque, plastic bench.

Pointing it out reminds Violette where she really is though, and with this, the lightness seeps from her spirit.

“Hey, Kim?”

“Yeah?” Kim asks, her own tone sobering. “Am I really making you uncomfortable? I can stop, Vi.”

Kim pulls her arm away, but Violette shakes her head.

“It isn’t that. I was just wondering…how many ghouls have you killed?”

“Five,” Kim answers. “Well, three were assist-kills. I’ve only killed two by myself. How come?”

“I worry about you,” Violette says, in between a truth and a lie.

“They’re not always that tough.” Kim dismissively flicks her hand. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a dangerous job for sure, but not every ghoul poses the same kind of threat. The last one I killed was pretty weak, to tell you the truth. I got a great quinque out of it though.”

Viscerally disturbed, Violette’s blood runs ice cold. She finds she cannot speak, only gulp.

“I could show it to you sometime,” Kim goes on, oblivious. “As long as you promise to stand back.”

“I’ve got to go.” Violette snaps to a stand, Kim’s arm slipping from her waist. “I think I left the stove on.”

“Huh?” Kim’s brows slant in puzzlement. “But I thought you were at the coffee shop?”

“From earlier,” Violette says as she secures her purse over her shoulder, power-walking away. “Sorry Kim, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait— Um, okay…?”

Violette doesn’t look back. She just keeps going, heart revved like an out of control race car in her chest.

Kim doesn’t think of ghouls as people. They’re just monsters to mow down so she can cut a paycheck.

Well, no, Violette supposes that’s a tad unfair. When Kim first told her about her job, she expressed a genuine desire to protect others. She lost her friend to a ghoul just like Violette lost her mother to a Dove.

It doesn’t make the knowledge that Kim would kill her if she knew the truth any easier to bear.

But Violette’s known that from the beginning, hasn’t she?

What’s changed?

She likes Kim but she doesn’t love her. Kim is a much needed distraction in the darkest time of her life, that’s all.

She likes her but her feelings can’t possibly run deep.

They can’t. She knows better.

* * *

“I didn’t think you were gonna come over,” Kim admits as she slides the key into the door of her apartment. “You were acting kind of weird earlier.”

“I really did leave the stove on,” Violette stuffs as much conviction as she can in the lame lie.

Kim looks like she wants to believe her. At any rate, she opens the door and changes the subject.

“Home sweet home.”

Violette checks it out as she walks inside, toeing her shoes off. It’s got a very modern design, with interesting light fixtures and chrome countertops. The furniture is the only thing that looks somewhat less than modern, a boxy black corduroy couch and love-seat set.

A fluffy puffball of a cat comes trotting down the hall, mewing loudly.

“Aww.” Violette crouches down and extends her hand. “You must be White.”

The cat sniffs at Violette’s outstretched fingers and bunts her head against her hand. Violette gives her a brief pet before she swings her fluffy face to Kim, meowing pointedly.

“Okay, okay,” Kim relents, chuckling as she paws through the pantry. “She knows I’m the one to beg for food if Nat’s not here.”

“Demanding little puffball,” Violette says, amused.

Kim pours some dry food in a little bowl and White prances over, munching happily.

Kim puts the food bag away and turns to Violette, hands on her hips.

“So, what’ll it be? Movie or drinking game?”

“Maybe a drinking game with water?” Violette proposes hesitantly.

Kim tilts her head, arching a single brow.

“If I…sp-spend the night,” Violette phrases carefully, even as her cheeks blaze, “and we do um, things together. I want it to be because we both want it and not because the b-booze makes it seem like a good idea.”

Kim’s grin is positively wicked. “Drinking game with water, it is. Make yourself comfortable while I fill us a pitcher.”

Violette ducks around to the living room and takes a seat on the couch. There’s a coffee table with some papers on it. A side table with a lamp and a photograph of a teenage Kim and Nathaniel, with a third girl in between them. Violette wonders if that’s Lynn and shifts her gaze to the television before she can dwell in the places that wondering will take her.

It’s a decent-sized LED tv. There’s a Wii next to the cable box but Violette gets the impression it’s Nathaniel’s since playing it isn’t an idea Kim brought up. There’s a clay cat on the shelf, clearly handmade and painted to look like White.

“Did you sculpt that?” she asks as Kim shuffles in, setting the pitcher and a pair of cups down on the coffee table.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Little gift for Nat when he first got her. Not my best work but he appreciated it. White doesn’t.” Kim makes a face. “I guess she doesn’t think I did her justice because she likes taking her paw and batting it off the shelf. That’s how the ear got chipped.”

Violette lets out a laugh. Kim pours the water and then sits down across from Violette.

“Two Truths and a Lie?”

“Sounds good to me,” Violette agrees.

“Okay. Whoever guesses wrong has to take a drink…of water. Pfft.” Kim slaps her forehead. “This is silly.”

“At least we’ll stay hydrated?” Violette says uncertainly.

“Good point. We’re gonna need to be hydrated for other stuff.” Kim winks.

Violette thinks of Kim’s latest gym selfies and licks her lips.

“Okay, I’ll go first.” Kim glances down and almost looks a little shy. “I was captain of the girls’ wresting team in high school, I have a pilot’s license, and I once got in a fight with an alligator.”

“You’ve never gotten in a fight with an alligator.”

“Wrong! Take a drink, I don’t have a pilot’s license.”

Violette takes a sip of water and crosses her arms. “How on earth did you get in a fight with an alligator?”

“It climbed the fence at my parents’ vacation place and got into the pool. We waited for awhile to see if it would go by itself but it didn’t and Baby Bear needed outside, so I chased it off with the pool skimmer.”

“Only you.”

“What, you’ve never fought an alligator before?”

Violette shakes her head, grinning. “Okay. So I know how to ride a horse, my dream pet is a venus flytrap, and I designed the mascot of the SpookyBoo Halloween store.”

“That cute ghost with the skeleton bones? Wouldn’t you be a millionaire if you made that?”

“You’d think, but no.” Violette sighs and rests her chin in hands. “Copyright and royalties and all that. I get $100 every time a new location opens, but the logo belongs to them.”

“That kinda sucks.” Kim wrinkles her nose.

“Yeah, but not much I can do about.” Violette shrugs. She’d like to be compensated accordingly but maybe it’s better to be low-profile. Or maybe not. With money comes power, maybe her family would be safe if she had enough to buy their security.

Kim takes a sip of water. “Okay, so the lie is you know how to ride a horse?”

Violette nods. “Horses terrify me. I want a venus flytrap because we get those drain flies by the dozens in the summer.”

Kim bobs her head. “I’m also afraid of horses, I hate beef jerky, and thick socks bother me.”

“You’re not afraid of horses,” Violette guesses.

“Believe me, I am. Take a drink.”

Violette takes a sip of water, tipping her head. “So you fight alligators and you hunt ghouls, but you’re afraid of horses?”

“Horses are more unpredictable than alligators and ghouls,” Kim insists. “Any animal that huge that spooks that easily, is an animal I don’t wanna be around.”

“That’s the same reason I’m scared of them,” Violette admits. “So okay, what’s the lie?”

“That thick socks bother me. Never leave house without ‘em in the winter.”

“Thick socks do bother me,” Violette says. “They make my feet sweat.”

“So I know what not to get you for your birthday. When is your birthday, anyway?”

“July first.”

“Never would’ve pegged you for a cancer,” Kim says. “I mean, you’re never crabby.”

Violette groans. “Alright. I secretly like your puns, I can slow dance, I always take spiders outside.”

“You can’t slow dance,” Kim guesses.

“I can.” Violette smiles. “Want me to show you?”

“Sure.”

Violette stands and takes Kim by the hand, pulling her up. She leads her around the coffee table and places Kim’s right hand on her hip and her left hand on Kim’s shoulder. She intertwines the fingers of her right hand with Kim’s left.

“When I step forward, you step back. Okay?”

Kim nods and focuses, following Violette’s lead. They sway together across the carpet, Violette gently correcting Kim’s missteps with subtle, guiding touches. Kim’s hand is a gentle pressure to her hip, eyes soft and attentive. Violette carries her through a mellow dance and squeezes her hand softly at the silent coda, pulling back.

“Well, take a bow,” Kim murmurs.

Violette takes a short bow and returns to the couch.

Kim starts to follow but pauses. “Wait. So which one was the lie?”

“Sorry, Kim.” Violette flashes her an apologetic look. “Your puns are awful.”

Kim dramatically grasps her heart. “You wound me.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Violette promises, the words coming out with a sultry undertone she didn’t exactly intend.

The questions change from there. It’s no longer about quirks or mundane fears. They become;

“My neck is especially sensitive, I’m not wearing underwear right now, and I like collarbone kisses.”

Or,

“I just clipped my nails, the zipper on my jeans is broken, and I’ve got a b-birthmark on my ass.”

The gap between them on the couch disappears increment by increment, until their knees are brushing.

And it eventually culminations in,

“I’ve been to the moon, I wanna take your clothes off, and you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“You’ve never been to the moon, Kim.”

“Got me, your turn.”

And Kim’s hand is already on her thigh.

“I want you to take my clothes off, I’m a zombie, and I tamed a dragon.”

“Only one of those things could be true,” Kim breathes a laugh.

“Oops,” Violette says, sliding her hand over Kim’s and guiding it to the crotch of her pants.

And Kim laughs, a fluttery, breathless noise that unleashes a sudden burst of affection in Violette’s chest.

“I thought you were kidding about the zipper.”

Violette answers her with a messy kiss, jamming her tongue in Kim’s mouth as Kim tugs the jeans down her hips.

* * *

Violette rests with her head on Kim’s breast, hanging on every breath that puffs past her lips with the reassuring rise and fall under her ear.

She savors the flavor of Kim still thick in her mouth, potent and pleasant, so much better than blood. Kim took care of her too and she relishes in the catch of sheets on her slick skin, Kim’s pruned fingers intertwined with hers.

“I’d ask if you wanna go again but Nat’s probably gonna be back soon.”

“Then we should put clothes on,” Violette sighs, having no inclination to do so.

“Sadly,” Kim agrees.

“A few more minutes?”

“A few. You can borrow something of mine to sleep in.”

“I think it’d be nice to sleep just like this,” Violette hums softly, “skin to skin.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” Kim confesses. “It felt good.”

“That was the first time I’ve ever done this,” Violette says, gently rolling her thumb in circles over Kim’s hand.

“You’re shitting me,” Kim gasps.

Violette snorts. “Uh, no. I’ve never had a girlfriend before.”

“Maybe I should’ve gone slower?” Kim worries. “If I knew, I would’ve—“

“Been flustered like you are right now.” Violette puts a finger to Kim’s lips, shutting her up. “It was perfect.”

“You don’t have anything to compare it to.”

“No, but I don’t need to.” Violette brushes a kiss over her jawline.

Kim gives her the gentlest look, eyes as soft as mullein. She strokes up and down her back, touch as tender as she made love to her. A comfortable, blissful quiet rolls out between them. Their heartbeats harmonize and they melt into each other’s warmth.

And then Kim’s phone rings.

“Ugh.”

“Ignore it.”

Kim nods, annoyance twitching over her face as she continues to rub Violette’s back. Her ringtone is peppy but obnoxious, like the music of a video game menu. It stops for a moment and them immediately starts up again.

Kim groans and Violette shifts to let her sit up. She fumbles for it on the night stand and answers.

“Agatha, I’m a little— What!?”  
  
Kim’s eyes widen and Violette’s stomach flips as she realizes something serious is going on.

“Shit!” Kim bolts out of bed, head awkwardly cocked to hold her phone in place as she fumbles for her clothes on the floor. “Crap, okay— Yeah, yeah I’m coming.”

She hangs up and drops the phone on the floor in her rush to turn her shirt right-side in.

“Kim?” Violette dubiously slides her legs over the side of the bed.

“Nathaniel’s in the hospital,” she gasps, throwing her shirt on. Backwards, negating all the frantic effort she put into getting it right-side in. “I gotta go. You can go home or stay here if you want, but I’m not sure when I’m gonna be back.”

“I think I should come with you,” Violette says, sliding off the bed and reaching for her underwear. “You’re obviously shook up and I don’t think you should be driving alone.”

“Okay, uh, thanks,” Kim mutters distractedly. “Shit, where’s my wallet?”

“On your dresser, Kim.”

Kim snaps her fingers and swipes it off her dresser, shoving it in her pocket.

They finish getting dressed and hurry down to the parking lot. Violette’s nervous about letting Kim take the wheel, but can’t exactly contest her for it. She doesn’t have a license.

“How bad is it?” Violette asks, uneasy as Kim basically flips off every speed limit and pedestrian zone they pass through.

“How bad does “emergency surgery” sound?” Kim splutters shrilly.

“Pretty bad…”

* * *

By some miracle, they don’t get pulled over. Kim goes charging inside and Violette hurriedly follows. A seated woman with a long magenta braid calls Kim’s name and gestures her over.

“Agatha! Is he okay?” Kim asks breathlessly.

“The receptionist said they’re still operating but they won’t be able to tell me anything after that. I’m not family.” Agatha purses her lips and casts a softer look to Violette. “Is this your girlfriend?”

“Violette, Agatha, Agatha, Violette. We can have a meet-and-greet and some lunch later. We need to find out what’s going on with Nat!”

“Policy is policy, they’re not going to talk to anyone who isn’t family.” Agatha rubs her temples.

“He doesn’t even talk to his family!” Kim emphasizes, waving her hands in frustration.

“He talks to his sister sometimes,” Agatha murmurs, tilting her head as she gives Violette a thoughtful look. “Do you want to pretend to be his sister?”

“Uh…sure, I can do that.” It’s not like Violette isn’t already an accomplished liar. “What’s her name?”

“Amber,” Kim mutters, the curl of her lip giving Kim the impression this Amber isn’t someone she’s fond of.

“Okay, here I go.” Violette sweeps her hands through her hair as she walks to the information desk, trying to straighten it as best she can. She is keenly aware of the remaining sweat on her skin, but hopefully humans’ weak sense of smell will keep the receptionist from noticing how grungy she is.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, um, my brother is the D-ghoul investigator who was admitted a little while ago. All I know from his colleague is that he’s in surgery and I’d like some more information.”

“Hm.” The receptionist does something on the computer that Violette can’t see, keys clacking as she types. “What’s your name?”

“Amber…” Violette cringes as she realizes she should’ve gotten a last name.

Apparently this suffices, as the receptionist nods her head. “Okay, you’re on the list. He’s still in surgery but as soon as he’s out, someone will update you. Just take a seat in the waiting room until then.”

“Thanks.” Violette politely dips her head and makes her way back over to Agatha and Kim.

“Well?” Agatha asks.

“Someone’s gonna update us.”

“Thanks, Vi.” Kim pats her back.

“No prob. I hope he’s okay…”

“What happened?” Kim asks, taking a seat next to Agatha.

Violette goes to sit next to her, but Kim pulls her on her lap instead. She holds fast around her waist and Violette doesn’t protest, figuring she needs some kind of security blanket in her turmoil.

“We wanted to capture the little one,” Agatha starts, “see what kind of info we could get out of her. We had her cornered, then Comedy and Tragedy showed up.”

Kim hisses.

“Comedy and Tragedy?” Violette asks, wondering if any of these ghouls are ones she knows.

“Their masks are like those famous theater masks,” Agatha explains. “We think they’re male, possibly brothers. Evidently they’re associated with our little Bird Skull because they came to her rescue.”

Bird Skull? That seems familiar but Violette can’t quite place from where. Maybe she’s overthinking it. She supposes if Agatha’s right about the theater mask pair being brothers, she could be talking about Leigh and Lysander.

“Which one fucked up Nat?” Kim asks.

“Comedy,” Agatha chews her lip. “Nathaniel gave as good as he got. I’ve got the rest of my squad searching for its corpse as we speak.”

Violette’s heart sinks. She hopes it’s not Leigh or Lysander.

“So unless they find one, the whole thing was a bust,” Kim mutters cynically. “No kills, no captures, and Nat’s hurt.”

“Not a complete bust,” Agatha tells her, taking out her phone and pulls up a picture, holding so Kim can see. “We unmasked the Bird Skull.”

Violette bites back a gasp. There’s Nina, blood splashed on her terrified face.

“It’s not what we were hoping to accomplish,” Agatha goes on, “but at least we know what it looks like. We can put flyers up and offer a reward to any civilians who have information.”

“She’s a child,” Violette blurts before she can stop herself.

Agatha and Kim shoot her sharp looks.

“No matter how young it is, it’s a ghoul,” Agatha says tartly. “It may have the face of a child, but it’s a dangerous monster who would eat you for dinner in a heartbeat.”

“The sweet face might even be a guise to lure you in,” Kim elaborates, tapping tired fingers against Violette’s hip.

“Right,” Violette says hollowly, far too jaded to argue no matter how hot the fury boils in her belly. “It’s just…that’s not the first image that comes to mind when I think of a monster.”

“Of course not,” Agatha says, voice softening, “it’s deceiving.”

“That’s the scariest thing about them,” Kim sighs. “They look just like us.”

Violette nods obligingly and slides off of Kim’s lap. “It seems like we’re going to be here for awhile. I’ll get us some coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to hate this as much as I hate my other MCL shit but alas, I'm in too deep to trash it.


	3. Chapter 3

“They assigned me my new partner,” Kim announces, morosely flopping down in one of the visitors’ chairs.

“Hi, Violette,” Nathaniel says, ignoring her entirely.

Violette offers a little wave while Kim groans in dejection. “We brought you something.”

“Please, no flowers.” Nathaniel pinches the bridge of his nose with bandaged fingers.

Someone from their headquarters had made the mistake of sending him some. As someone with pollen allergies, he’d been pretty pissed.

Kim laughs dryly, pulling herself out of her misery long enough to go shut the door. “Give her to him, Vi.”

Violette sets the cloth tote bag down on a chair and lifts the flaps so White can come out. She spots Nathaniel and immediately jumps up on the bed, nuzzling into his arm. Nathaniel gasps, eyes shining joyfully. White is just as happy to see him as he is to see her. She climbs onto his chest and bumps his face, affectionate purr rumbling loudly.

“She’s missed you,” Violette murmurs.

It’s been a few weeks since his hospital admission and he’s not leaving anytime soon. His femur was badly broken, not to mention his clavicle, a wound that almost cost him his trachea, and some kind of brain hemorrhage that bordered on fatal. All of which information Violette has access to as his “sister.”

He doesn’t mind, his real sister isn’t even aware anything happened.

She’s glad he’s alive. He seems like a decent fellow and she cares about his wellbeing for Kim’s sake. All the same, she can’t blame Lysander for dishing his worst. He was protecting Nina. Violette would’ve protected Nina too.

As is, Violette is apart of protecting her, in a sense. Since Nina’s been unmasked, she’s been sharing her a portion of her kills with her. As have the brothers and Iris.

Violette’s glad that no one died in the altercation, that no blow from either side proved to be fatal. It’s a strange feeling to balance in her chest, this offbeat kind of neutrality. She needs to rein in her sympathy to survive no matter who she’s with.

Kim would kill her for being what she is, and she’s a threat to other ghouls just by being around Kim.

White curls up on Nathaniel’s chest, tucking her nose under her tail. Kim rocks back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“She’s been driving me nuts,” Kim mutters. “Scratching the furniture, hacking up hairballs on my bed, and knocking things off the counter.”

“She never acts up like that,” Nathaniel protests in disbelief.

“It’s probably because you’re gone,” Violette offers thoughtfully. Maybe she’s been doing a little bit of that herself.

“That's gotta be it, she’s never that crazy when you’re home. She’s not half as bad as this asshat they assigned to me though.”

Violette gives her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Who is it?”

“Some cocky surfer dude named Dakota.” Kim wrinkles her nose. “He’s hit on me twice. Second time, I actually grabbed him by the balls.”

“You didn’t.”

“She did.” Violette grimaces. “She has the write-up to prove it.”

Nathaniel laughs and then winces as laughing jars his injuries, disrupting White. She moves down and curls up above his cast instead.

“It’s not funny!” Kim gripes. “I shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

“No, no, you shouldn’t,” Nathaniel agrees. “Sorry. Did you apply for reassignment?”

“Not yet. I think he’s learned his lesson and besides, paperwork shit is pretty much put on hold until someone catches Pop Star.”

Deborah doesn’t even wear a mask, they call her that because of her flashy face paint and her habit of being caught on camera because she kills in public all the time. Frankly, if there wasn’t the risk of exposing herself, Violette would tell Kim where to find her.

“They’re going to have to bring reinforcements in, aren’t they?”

“Probably. There’s a location I wanna check into, but I’m going myself. I don’t trust Dakota.”

Violette freezes, fixing Kim with a firm stare. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Uh, yeah, I know.” Kim sheepishly rubs the back of her head, eyes lowering to the floor. “I thought you’d worry if I said something.”

“Obviously!” Violette’s hands fly over her head.

“Calm down,” Nathaniel says. “You’re gonna wake up White. But Kim, seriously. It’s understandable if you don’t want to work with some prick, but taking an S~ on by yourself is stupid. Ask someone else to go with you.”

“Your brain still scrambled from your hematoma? I told you, I got written up,” Kim huffs in frustration. “I’m supposed to be on desk duty.”

“Ask Agatha.”

“Sure. Because her squad did such a good job last time.”

“It’s not an argument,” Violette cuts in. “It’s just safety. You should wait until you have backup to do anything.”

“I’ve waited too long already,” Kim says. “I was putting off searching until my good quinque got repaired but you guys saw the news. There were another two victims yesterday.”

Violette bites her lip. “Just where do you think she is, anyway?”

“Based on the places she’s made her kills,” Kim starts as she pulls up her phone. “I think we can find her around here.”

She turns her phone so Violette can see and Violette gulps. Kim’s got the vicinity down pat, it’s exactly where Deborah’s territory is marked on the map Iris gave her.

“Pop Star likes an audience so I’m gonna stake her out during the day.”

“With what quinque?” Nathaniel raises a brow.

“Yours,” Kim says blithely. “It’s no match for my Mortician, but hey, you’re not using it and I need something in the meantime.”

“Mortician?” Violette questions.

“We name them,” Kim says. “I guess it might sound a little dorky, but it just seems normal after awhile.”

“What’d you name yours?” Violette asks Nathaniel, her morbid curiosity piqued.

“This is where I stray from the pack a bit,” Nathaniel admits, a hint of pink creeping into his cheeks. “I just call it Quinque.”

“C’mon, Vi,” Kim snorts. “He named his cat 'White,' what did you expect?”

“I thought he’d at least call it ‘Ghoul Killer,’” Violette teases.

Kim cackles, a grin splitting her face.

Nathaniel is not as amused. “You two are soulless, insulting me on my deathbed.”

“You’re not on your deathbed.” Kim rolls her eyes. “You’re like a cockroach, Nat. You’re too tough to die.”

“I can’t tell if that was a compliment or another insult.”

“Obviously a compliment!” Kim plants her hands on her hips.

“Obviously?” echoes Nathaniel. “People don’t like cockroaches, Kim.”

“So how about you’re like a water bear?” Violette ventures. “They’re incredibly resilient and virtually un-killable, and definitely less unpleasant than cockroaches.”

“That’s an upgrade,” Nathaniel agrees. “I’m like a water bear.”

“Fussy,” Kim mutters, but she’s smiling all the same.

In that moment, Violette is hit with the lightning strike of the realization that she would do anything to protect that smile. Anything to keep it intact and safe, anything to keep it close to her.

* * *

Leigh’s basement is even more lively than usual. Dajan and Jade, a pair of ghouls from another district are visiting, contemplating making a move. Iris’s kid brother is here, making her laugh about something. Nina’s mother is here today too. She’s a frail wisp of a woman with nervous eyes but Nina keeps patting her hand to reassure her. Lysander hovers near them like a well-groomed guard dog.

The one Violette wants to talk to isn’t here yet so she decides to buy time by being social. It isn’t her strong suit, but at least it’s a mostly friendly crowd. She winds her way over to Lysander and taps him on the shoulder.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Violette.” He smiles politely. “Anything new to report?”

She shakes her head. “Not that I can think of. How are you doing?”

“Much better. I tend to refrain form indulging in dessert but it’s helped me recover.” He adjusts his cravat. “How are you?”

“I’m pretty good. I don’t have anything for Nina tonight, but I plan on hunting soon.”

“I appreciate your team effort, so to speak.” Lysander inclines his head.

“Nina welcomed me here from the start, it’s the least I can do.” Violette eyes Jade and Dajan, talking to Leigh. “Do you think they’ll stay?”

“Probably. It sounds like we have less Doves here, although Deborah might yet ruin that.”

“Well, at least you incapacitated one of them.”

Lysander pauses. His mouth opens and then closes, a mildly bemused look crossing his face. “I was under the impression I killed him.”

Violette stiffens, prickling with apprehension.

“Do you know otherwise? Have you seen him patrolling?”

“N-No!” Violette waves her hands back and fourth. “Just, um, you know. I think if he died, his death would’ve been on the news. Or at least in the obituaries.”

“Hmm.” Lysander tips his head, pensive. “I think you have a point, I may have jumped to conclusions. Although I don’t read the obituaries.”

He gives her an odd look.

“No?” Violette nervously fiddles with her purse strap. “I always do to see if my kills pop up.”

“Interesting. Not a bad idea, I appreciate the art of printing. It still has it’s use in spite of the technology marching on.”

“Same.” Violette heaves a mental sigh of relief.

Deborah arrives with all the subtlety of a rainbow striped zebra, skipping down the steps with Castiel on her heels.

“Who wants to bitch at me first?” she asks in a bored octave.

Leigh begins rolling up his sleeves, practically vibrating with rage, but Violette approaches her first.

“I was hoping we could talk,” she says earnestly.

“Oooh, you’ve really surprised me, Little Lamb,” Deborah bubbles with a razored singsong. “Never thought you’d get within a meter of me. Every time I arrive, you look like you’re gonna piss yourself.”

“I’ll admit it, you intimidate me,” Violette declares without restraint. “But I don’t think you’re as carefree as you make yourself out to be.”

The background hum of other conversation dies down as everyone stops to look over. Violette feels her skin crawl, itching with the horror that is being the center of attention. It goes against every fiber of her being.

“I’m dying to know what gives you that impression.” Deborah rolls her eyes but Violette is undeterred.

“I’m sure most of us don’t want to kill,” Violette says, “we just do it to survive. Maybe pretending to enjoy it and making a big show of it is how you cope or how you put it out of your mind, but it shouldn’t be. Why don’t you come hunting with me and we can talk about it over a meal of scumbags?”

For a moment, Deborah seems to stop working, like her mind short-circuits or something. She blinks slowly, her mouth falling open. Then she laughs and the sound is like poison.

“Oh, Little Lamb,” she titters, strutting into Violette’s personal space and lifting her chin with her index finger. Her pointed, manicured nail presses ever-so-slightly into her skin. “You think I’m here to make friendship bracelets?”

“I think you know the way you do things is wrong,” Violette counters, holding her ground. “I want to reach out to you and give you an opportunity to be better.”

Deborah’s eyes spark and she lets go of Violette’s chin, stepping back. Fleet as a flying fish, she drives a kick into Violette’s gut. Violette sails across the room, crashing into the wall. Pain explodes in her back, her teeth rattling in her skull. She falls coughing, spittle spraying from her lips. Iris hurries over and protectively stands in front of her.

“That was uncalled f—“

“Cool it, Carrots.” Deborah shoves her out of the way and crouches down, gently curling her hand around Violette’s throat.

“So confused,” she trills in fatuous pity. “You’re the one who needs to do better. Embrace what you are and next time, you might actually be able to take a hit from me.”

“Enough.” Leigh comes over and grabs Deborah by the shoulder, pulling her back. “I won’t have any fighting here.”

Deborah stands and there’s a wild glint in her eyes, her grin bearing her teeth as though she’s daring him to challenge her.

“You’re doing it again,” she sneers darkly, “throwing around weight you don’t have.”

“Deborah, let’s go,” Castiel sighs, coming over and slinging an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not worth it.”

“Mm, you’re right.” She pecks his cheek. “I’m getting bored.”

They leave together. Violette remains where she is, in a crumbled pile against the wall, just trying to catch her breath. Worry whirlwinds through her mind as she imagines Kim confronting Deborah alone.

She can’t let it happen. She just can’t.

“Here, Violette.” Nina bends at the waist, offering her a cup of blood.

Violette takes it and sips gratefully, the pain slowly receding from her belly.

“That was cool,” Nina chimes, patting her shoulder. “Stupid, but cool.”

“Are you okay?” Iris hovers fretfully.

“No.” And Violette’s not even referring to the bruises she feels imprinted into her spine.

Kim wants to hunt Deborah alone, in secret, armed with a quinque she isn’t used to wielding.

“Now can we all agree that we need to do something about her?” Leigh asks pointedly.

He’s too late though. It’s Violette’s job now.

* * *

“What are you doing here?” Kim asks, incredulous.

 _Following you,_ Violette thinks but does not say.

“Uh, well I just so happened to be in the area, so I thought I’d check out this store."

Violette knew she couldn’t convince Kim to change her mind no more than she could convince Deborah to hunt with her. So she didn’t ask. She simply began following her around Deborah’s feeding grounds, unobtrusive as she could.

She’d stop inside shops and cafes and watch from the windows, mask tucked into her purse should she need to intervene. For four days she’s been lucky enough not to get caught but it seems her luck has run out.

“We’re in a toy store, Violette.”

“Yeah, I’m…doing research,” Violette settles on. “Checking out the types of logos and mascots that appeal to children. You never know when I might be propositioned by a toy company. What are you doing here?”

“Working,” Kim says, nodding down to the suitcase in her hand. “Pop Star seems to have a preference for children, so maybe it’ll show up here.”

“That’s disturbing,” Violette mumbles.

“What makes it even more disturbing is you being here.” Kim frowns. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I could say the same thing to you.”

“Yeah, but this is my job.”

“Your job is supposed to be desk duty right now.” Violette crosses her arms.

“Only because of some asshole.” Kim pauses, a skeptical look falling over her face as she raises a brow. “What are you wearing?”

“Don’t change the subject, Kim.”

“I just think it’s weird. It’s sunny today and you’re dressed in some oversized raincoat.”

“I don’t have a lot of clean clothes right now,” Violette lies, “the washing machine is on the fritz.”

“Uh-huh.” Kim frowns, her gaze hardening. “You’re acting weird, Vi. Is something up? Because I thought—“

“Kim!”

“Don’t interrupt me! I’m not attacking you here, but—“

“No, no, Kim, you were right!” Violette points to the window behind Kim’s head.

In the yard adjacent to the store there’s two bouncy houses on interactive display, entertaining a gaggle of shrieking kids. There on the sidewalk stands Deborah herself, scoping them out with a twisted grin on her face.

Kim wheels around, following the line of Violette’s finger. Her eyes widen and then she’s diving out the automatic doors, suitcase swinging in her grasp.

And Violette just stops short, suddenly frozen and unsure in the tornado of activity. Should she have even pointed Deborah out to Kim?

Shoppers and employees are crowding past her to stare out the window, not daring to watch through the doors. Violette can’t see what’s going on anymore but she hears a yell that is distinctly Deborah’s and the kids aren’t shrieking happily anymore, they’re squealing like piglets in the slaughterhouse.

Is this really happening right now?

Violette was supposed to be prepared for this, right?

Wasn’t she supposed to do something about Deborah before Kim came?

This isn’t happening. Except it is and when Violette hear’s a yelp that is undoubtedly Kim’s, she yanks the sheep mask out of her bag and puts it on, racing out the doors. Her heart’s stuttering but her blood’s running cold and Kim is on the ground, braced on an elbow with her knees pointing up.

Her quinque holds Deborah back, a shimmering red thing that rather resembles a huge, weaponized umbrella. It provides something of a shield, trapping the tip of one of Deborah’s eight rinkaku tentacles. Kim twirls the handle, the strikes of Deborah’s other tentacles going awry.

Violette stands agape. Deborah’s tentacles are long and robust, sectioned and shaped like stingers at the ends, reminding Violette of scorpion tails. She’s never seen a kagune like this before.

Could Deborah really be a cannibal?

It doesn’t matter! She can’t just stand here, Kim’s in danger! She needs to move, needs to move fast, needs to move now! Kim twirls the handle in her hand, shearing the tip of Deborah’s trapped tentacle. Deborah snarls, springing upward, braced on six of them. A free one rapidly drills toward Kim and Violette’s body moves of its own accord.

She rams herself into the tentacle, catching Deborah off guard and unbalancing her. Deborah keens sideways but recovers, another tentacle vying for Violette. She manages to dodge its grasp, but another sneaks up on her, catching her around the middle like one of those snap bracelets.

“The hell are you doing here, Little Lamb?” she accuses, sounding more quizzical than pissed.

Violette doesn’t reply. She writhes in the viselike grip of the tentacle clamped around her, trying to steal a look at Kim.

Kim isn’t behind her anymore, Kim’s charging forward with the quinque primed for offense. It’s shifted shape slightly, appearing flatter, more like a circular saw than an umbrella. She swings it with a force, momentum sending her spinning as she slices through tentacles.

Deborah dips and this time she can’t recover fast enough, falling to one knee and retracting her remaining tentacles. Violette is discarded in the process, plummeting to the ground. She lands hard on her ass and awkwardly scrambles to her feet as Kim rushes in, quinque aimed for Deborah’s heart.

Deborah knocks her away, sending her rolling. But Kim holds fast to the quinque and shifts its mode in the flurry. It’s back to its umbrella shape and serves as a ready shield when a pair of Deborah’s tentacles thrust forth to impale her. They bounce off and Deborah growls in frustration, sweeping another one behind Kim.

Violette isn’t fast enough to call out a warning as it coils around her leg. Deborah yanks Kim into the air, a cry of shock flying from her lips. She struggles to hold onto the quinque suspended upside-down, Deborah vigorously shaking her back and fourth like a cur with a dead rodent.

“Put her down!” Violette demands, feeling the release of her kagune and the jet stream of adrenaline shooting through her veins.

“Are you stupid?” Deborah squawks. “We’re supposed to be on the same team here, Lambchop. The second she’s done with me, she’s gonna go after you too.”

“I don’t care!” Violette fans her ukaku as a lionfish fans its deadly fin rays. A warning. Any precarious movement on Deborah’s part and she’ll unleash everything she’s got.

There’s a pause as the gears turn in Deborah’s head and Violette sees the conclusion she comes to in her eyes, bright as bonfires with devilish enlightenment.

“You’re friends with a Dove! I knew you were cuckoo for Candy Puffs, but I never realized how bad!”

The quinque slips from Kim’s hands as Deborah continues throttling her, her teeth audibly clacking. Violette absently gives her credit for holding on as long as she did. It clatters to the ground a few lengths away from Violette.

Violette holds her chin high and takes a step closer to Deborah.

“Put her down,” she orders. “I won’t ask again.”

“Aww, you want me to put her down?” Deborah coos mockingly. “Sure thing, Little Lamb, I’ll put her down.”

Deborah stretches out her tentacle to its full height and stretches it back until it’s taut. Violette recoils in horror.

“No!”

Deborah violently flings Kim, launching her into the air like a cannonball. Kim sails through the sky, limbs sprawling. Violette pistons after her, panic pelting through her at a breakneck pace. She jumps from parked cars like a flea and catches Kim midair, twisting around to protect her from the imminent impact.

She cushions Kim from the collision with brick, blood flooding her mouth as her teeth dig into her tongue. A shockwave of pain shoots through her skull and together they fall into a thankfully empty dumpster down below.

The thud of their bodies echoes through the metal. Breaths as heavy as wet wool wheeze out of them. Slowly, slowly, Kim rolls off of Violette.

With shaking fingers she pulls back the collar of Violette’s slicker and lifts the necklace hidden underneath. Kim herself sculpted and painted the various beads and charms. There’s no other necklace like it in the world.

Just like there’s no other ‘kaiju’ than the one Violette framed for Kim and gifted her in return.

“So it is you under there,” Kim warbles, quavery. She drops the necklace.

Violette nods and makes no attempt to get up. Even as her worst nightmare plays out around her in real time, she takes comfort in the fact that Kim survived Deborah.

“Are you going to kill me, Kim?”

“Are you going to kill me?” Kim returns.

Violette breathes a nervous laugh. “I can barely bring myself to kill for food. How could I…I can’t even think of killing someone I love.”

And of all the reactions Violette had expected when she inevitably imagined this worst case scenario, it was not Kim’s laughter.

But Kim’s laughter peals from her mouth in reedy, jittery syllables. “This is not how I pictured our first ‘I love you’s’ to each other.”

“So you love me?”

“Shit, Vi.” Kim takes the sheep mask and delicately lifts it from Violette’s face, looking her in the eyes. “I love who I thought you were, but I clearly don’t know the real you.”

“You do,” Violette promises. “Kim, I swear you know me. None of it was a lie…none of it other than this part. This is the only side of me you don’t know.”

“I know more than you think.” Kim shifts her gaze to the sheep mask, tapping it on the nose. “This ghoul was supposed to be my next assignment. Nicknamed it “Vigilante” because so far, it seems its only victims are convicted sex offenders.”

Violette gapes, nonplussed. “I can’t believe it. I was so careful.”

“We’ve got a blurry clip from a traffic cam that shows a ghoul with this mask jumping from buildings near one of the crime scenes. The kagune secretions matched the ones we found around some other dead pedo’s.”

“Fucking traffic cams,” Violette curses bitterly and closes her eyes.

“I didn’t know it was you.” Kim drums her fingers on the mask, the sound reverberating through the empty dumpster. “But I saw some signs. I think I just ignored them and put them out of my mind because if it was true, I never wanted to know.”

“And now you do,” Violette mumbles.

Kim nods, sucking her lower lip between her teeth.

“Will you kill me?” Violette asks again, tear sliding down her cheek.

To her surprise, Kim leans over, brushing a kiss over her bloody lips.

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do,” she murmurs in a marshmallow soft tone. “I’m going to keep Vigilante’s file private. I’m going to cram it in the back of my desk. And it’s always going to be my case, but it’s always going to be my last priority, because ghouls that eat child molesters aren’t nearly as detrimental as the ones that eat children.”

“Thank you,” Violette chokes out, an ocean of relief like no other washing over her.

“But from now on you’ve got to be honest with me.”

“I’ve got nothing to lie about anymore.” Violette takes Kim’s hand and weaves their fingers together. “I promise.”

* * *

When Violette gets a knock at the door the next day, she expects anything except Deborah.

Deborah is what she gets.

“Hey Lambchop,” she greets. “Let’s talk.”

Violette’s first instinct is to close the door, but Deborah wedges her foot in before she can.

She waggles a disapproving finger in Violette’s face.

“You definitely don’t want to be rude to me right now, Lambchop. There’s a lot of things I could do with the secrets I learned yesterday.”

“Okay,” Violette relents, looking back down the hallway. Her father is in his room, well-fed from her latest excursion. Odds are that he won’t be out for awhile. “We can talk.”

She steps outside and shuts the door behind her. They sit on the porch steps next to on another and Deborah begins.

“I was surprised by you, you know. I never once would’ve thought you of all people, were conspiring with the Doves—“

“I’m not!”

“Like they say, it’s always the quiet ones,” Debora goes on. “I debated back and fourth on how to use this information and I think I’ve finally decided. I could use your help, after all.”

“Get Castiel to do it. He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

Deborah scoffs. “Cassy won’t help me with this. He’s like a kitten, you see. Cute and fun to play with, but weak. He doesn’t have any guts, he’s not made of the tough stuff. I don’t think you are either, but I know you’re not stupid and I’ve got you in a place where I can force your hand.”

“What do you want?” Violette demands, simmering with uneasiness.

“I’ve had it up to here with Leigh’s bitching,” Deborah says, frank. “I don’t see any reason I should have to live under someone else’s stuffy rules.”

“I thought Leigh didn’t pose a threat to you…”

“Not by himself,” Deborah clarifies. “But he has his brother and all the other morons who live here following him like brainless sheep. No offense to you, Little Lamb.”

Violette only glowers. Deborah ignores it.

“And really? He just pisses me off. He’s been on my last nerve long enough, time to do something about him. This is where you come in.”

“You don’t mean to kill him?”

“No way, I want to invite him over to my place and snack on finger food.” Deborah rolls her eyes. “No shit, I mean to kill him. I told you, he’s no threat to me alone. He knows that too and that’s why he’s careful. Now, you? He’s got no reason to be careful around you.”

“I’m not going to help you kill Leigh.” Violette narrows her eyes.

“I think you are, because you’ve only got two choices.” Deborah giggles. “You can either lure Leigh out for me so I can take care of him for good, or I can tell him and every one of his flock that you’ve been collaborating with a Dove. I can tell them all about how you’ve been feeding her their information to save your own skin—“

“That’s not true!” Violette hisses. “Kim never knew I was a ghoul!”

“So her name is Kim? What else do you know about her that you deliberately failed to disclose to everyone whose safety depends on avoiding her?”

Violette doesn’t have an answer.

“Everyone would turn on you, no matter what kind of excuse you have. They find out you’re all buddy-buddy with a Dove, and suddenly you’re twice the threat they thought I was. Me? Well maybe I’m reckless. Maybe I’m a bitch. But you, oh, you’ve been telling Miss Kim what we look like, where we live, where we hunt.”

“I…” Violette’s words die in her throat.

“Haven’t?” Deborah raises a knowing brow. “No one could trust that. They’d have no problem tearing you apart, Violette. I’ve seen your kagune, pitiful little thing it is. Fragile as a baby bird’s wings compare to Nina’s kagune, let alone everyone else’s. You don’t care enough about Leigh to die for him, do you?”

“Fine,” Violette consents in defeat. “I’ll lure him out for you.”

“Smart move, Little Lamb.”

* * *

“So next Saturday, she wants me to text him saying I want to meet him at this warehouse,” Violette finishes relaying her confrontation with Deborah to Kim.

“Saturday? I’ll have Mortician back by then,” Kim says, contemplative. “Can’t get any backup though. Some shopper recorded what happened through the window and I got written up again for blowing off being written up the first time. Even if I wasn’t written up, explaining away how I knew she was going to be there via ‘anonymous source’ wouldn’t fly.”

“No.” Violette hangs her head. “We’re not setting her up then. It’s too dangerous for you to take her on alone.”

“I know it didn’t go well last time,” Kim admits, “but I’ve got a better quinque this time around. And I’ve got you.”

“Me?” Violette pales. “How do I put this? If Deborah’s a battleship, than I’m a sailboat.”

“I think you should give yourself more credit than that,” Kim encourages, patting her back. “You were really brave when you saved my ass, and that was on a whim. This time we’re prepared.”

“I don’t know about that, exactly…”

“I’ve got to take her down sooner than later,” Kim says severely. “She’s killed too many people. If there’s an opportunity, I can’t ignore it. Especially not now that I’m personally involved.”

“I know,” Violette admits. “So we’re setting her up.”

“I really should tell you to have this other ghoul meet her there anyway. Two birds, one stone.”

“Kim, no.” Violette shuts her eyes.

“I can make an exception for you but I’m still an investigator, Violette. I’ve got to do my job.”

“He’s a good guy. I’m not going to get him killed.”

“We’ve probably gotta make some compromises about this kind of stuff,” Kim says uncertainly.

Violette nods, opening her eyes. “I’ve never told anyone anything about you. Not even my dad. I never have and I never will.”

“My friends know you’re my girlfriend but that’s it. If you have information about any ghoul as dangerous as Deborah, can you agree to tell me?”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Violette nods. “If you’ve got information about any raids in the area, when and where, can you agree to tell me?”

“I can do that much,” Kim accepts, rubbing at the back of her neck. “Hey, Vi?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m thinking you probably would’ve lived if I let you walk in front of that bus.”

“Probably,” Violette says, smiling sheepishly as she shrugs. “It probably would’ve hurt a lot though. Anyway, I’m glad I met you.”

“I want you in my life,” Kim hums lightly. “That hasn’t changed.”

Violette crawls into her lap and nuzzles her face into the crook of her neck, letting out a contented sigh.

“Can we stay like this for awhile?”

“Nowhere I’d rather be.”

Violette chuckles. “How many times have you used that line before?”

“Hm…Maybe three or four,” jokes Kim.

Violette playfully bats her shoulder.

* * *

Violette waits in Deborah’s requested location, a bundle of nerves. She feels like a pin cushion, riddled with needles of anxiety. One wrong move and she dies, or worse, loses Kim.

Kim waits in the dark on the inside of the warehouse. If Violette successfully distracts Deborah for long enough, she’ll have an opening to attack from behind. It’s their best shot.

Various iterations of how the night may go reel through Violette’s head. She imagines being slashed open by one of Deborah’s freaky scorpion-tentacles, innards flying out of her stomach. She imagines Kim trying to dodge a strike and failing, head soaring through the air like a beach ball as Deborah decapitates her. She imagines the best scenario, Deborah dead as a doornail on the ground with her kagune exposed for Kim’s culling.

“Where’s Leigh?”

Violette nearly jumps out of her skin, so immersed in her daydreams she didn’t even hear Deborah approach.

“On his way, I’m sure,” Violette replies. “I texted him.”

Deborah searches Violette’s face and evidently detects a fib, lips folding into a frown.

“Show me.”

“Huh?”

“Your phone,” Deborah says, irritated. “Show me what you texted him.”

Violette fishes through her purse, purposely fumbling to stall time. Her gaze is lowered into her purse and she doesn’t see the moment when Kim’s quinque hits its mark, but she hears the wet sound of shredding of meat as she’s hit with the hot spray of fresh blood.

Violette gasps, quickly looking up. Deborah’s speared through the shoulder by a three-pronged trident of a quinque, her arm remaining connected by mere threads of sinew. Kim wrenches the quinque and tears it off entirely, blood rushing free like the fountain in the park as the limb thuds to the ground.

It isn’t the activation of Deborah’s kagune or her furious string of curses that roots Violette to the spot. It isn’t the odor of blood or Kim’s precarious maneuvering as she evades the first flurry of flying tentacles. It’s the first taste of the scent she’s been aching for, the absence of which had plunged her into despair.

 _No,_ she thinks. _No, it can’t be._

“Violette, help me!”

Violette is too numb to help herself even, a forceful swing of Deborah’s kagune sending her skidding across the blacktop. Violette lands in a heap, gravel and grit biting into her skin. She watches as Kim’s quinque illuminates with energy, the trident prongs retracting to form a single point. It fires a round of small, sharp bolts that look unmistakably similar to Violette’s own projectiles.

_No, no, no._

Violette takes a breath and knows that _yes,_ it’s true, in the flavor of orchid and antiseptic that tingles on her tongue.

The numbness transforms into rage and it’s all Violette can do to direct it at Deborah as her kagune releases. She fires a barrage of projectiles, striking Deborah in the belly as she draws herself up. Kim calls something to her, but all Violette hears is static.

She throws herself into a frenzy, firing series after series of crystalized shards as she tears toward Deborah. She leaps and bobs, slips and falls, slapped by tentacles to and fro until she’s too dizzy to stare in horror at Kim’s quinque.

Kim continues her own relentless attack but her moves are precise and skillful. Violette’s are frazzled and desperate. She slices at Deborah’s tentacles with the mass of her ukaku itself and fires projectiles in between. Three of Deborah’s tentacles are gone now and her body looks like a porcupine, stuck all over with Violette’s projectiles and Kim’s bolts embedded into her.

Blood paints her clothes and her skin, one of her eyeballs dribbling from the socket and leaking gelatinous fluid down her face.

Violette focuses on her face as much as she can focus on anything, dashing forward with her kagune poised. She’s going to cut her head off, rip it right off her neck like a bully mutilating his little sister’s dolls.

Deborah is faster. Her tentacle thrusts straight for Violette and impales her right through the middle. Pain bursts through her like fireworks and she gags on her own blood as it geysers up her throat. Her insides are torn and pulped as Deborah’s tentacle corkscrews through her, taking up the space from her navel to her breasts.

Violette weakly places a hand overtop, mystified and eerily detached from the sight of it. Trails of her blood trickle down the thick presence of Deborah’s kagune. She touches them and doesn’t feel a thing, not even wetness as they smear over her deathly pale fingertips.

There’s a strange but distant sensation of sliding as the tentacle pulls back, exiting her torso. Violette drops from the sky like an anchor sunk into the sea. She hears a noise like a soaked sponge slapped to the concrete. She blearily watches Kim parry an attack from Deborah’s tentacle with that hateful thing that used to be her mother.

She isn’t sure if the last thing she chokes on is more blood or a sob before everything goes black.

* * *

“Violette, Violette, come on,” Kim’s saying to her, panicky and breathless. “Eat this!”

Violette blinks hazily, the image of Deborah’s polished nails coming into view. Kim holds out the dismembered arm, urging her to take it.

“Come on, Violette, you gotta eat something.”

Kim has blood drying on her face and in her hair. Violette looks beyond her and sees Deborah’s corpse, tongue flopped out and dripping red. Kim’s quinque lies a few lengths away, forgotten on the ground now that it’s no longer in use.

Violette stares at it, heart throbbing in her chest as she recognizes the vibrant swirls of purple against black in the handle.

“Are you still with me, Violette? Please, Violette, baby, if you don’t eat something you’re not gonna regenerate fast enough! You’re gonna die!”

“Should eat you,” Violette croaks, looking up to Kim and struggling to focus as the tears well in her eyes.

Kim stiffens, blinking in bafflement.

“You killed my mom.”

“Huh? Vi, I killed Deborah. You’re hurt, you’re delirious, you need to—“

“That,” Violette wails, anguished chest heaving with effort, so weak she can scarcely point her finger. “That thing you call “Mortician” used to be my mom!”

Kim’s eyes widen to saucers in her skull, mouth falling open in shock.

“Tell me you didn’t do it,” Violette begs. “Tell me it was Nathaniel or Agatha, and they just gave you the quinque. I could forgive you for that.”

Kim is stricken and speechless, jaw trembling.

“I could forgive you for using her,” Violette sobs, already knowing in the pit of her gut that Kim is responsible for far more than that. “I could forgive you if you got her from someone else, tell me you didn’t kill my mom.”

“I wish I could,” Kim confesses gravely. “Oh Violette, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“You think we’re the monsters but she never hurt a fly! She only brought home people who were already dead! She was gentle and sweet and frail, and you killed her just for existing!”

“Violette, I didn’t know!” Kim exclaims, fraught with guilt. “It’s my job, I go where they—“

“Stop!” Violette interrupts, fuming through her tears. “You bragged about it! She was so weak, but the weapon you culled out of her corpse was so strong you boasted! Proud of yourself for murdering a feeble woman who didn’t stand a chance against you…”

“I’m sorry.” Kim helplessly hangs her head, despondent. “I would take it back if I could, Violette.”

“You can’t,” Violette whimpers weakly, coughing out some more blood and bile. “You can’t do anything.”

“I know this changes everything.” Kim swallows thickly. “I know, and you never have to see me after tonight. But you do have to eat, Violette, you’re seriously fucked up and you’re not regenerating by yourself.”

Violette pauses to catch her breath, taking a glance down at herself. There’s a gaping hole in her middle, a stew of fluids, membranes, and torn, tangled organs pooled inside. She shifts her gaze and stares hard at Deborah’s arm in Kim’s lap.

Violette gathers up her dwindling strength and uses it to release her kagune.

“There,” she pants, vision swimming as she grows increasingly lightheaded. “Now you can store me in a suitcase too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rushed this in order to finish it in time for Femslash February, so I'll be combing through for typos and the like. Tried to cram as many references to the game in as possible.


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